Blood of the Hunt
by J.C.Sebastian.Morgenstern
Summary: The final installment of The Morgenstern Legacy trilogy. Part 1: Prince of the Courts (Completed) Part 2: Exile of the Clave (Completed) Part 3: Blood of the Hunt (Coming January 2017)
1. Chapter 1

**1**

 _Familiar blue-white illumination flickered across Baelerithon's features, edging the slight curve of his cheekbone where his face drew up into a small, satisfied smile._

 _Shattered stone had been brushed back into haphazard piles around the walls of the War Room in the Unseelie Court, and the font of ley magic that had been exposed by his predecessor glowed more brightly than it had before Bael had come. It pulsed rhythmically, thrumming gently in his mind with the soft sussuration of power that rolled beneath the surface of this realm._

 _He turned the ancient, bronze circlet in his hands almost without seeming to realize what he was doing as he listened to the whisper of the font, enraptured by the hint of what lay deeper within. One who had not be brushed by its power may have sensed a malevolence seeping through the connection between the earth's magic and the Unseelie Court, but Baelerithon only felt the quiet security that came from being closer to any connection with the Eternal Forest. It had_ chosen _him. His fingers traced the worn mark of the Unseelie on the crown and he felt his heart speed up as he considered what must come next. He turned his eyes upward in anticipation._

 _Caelus hung upside down from the ceiling, his lower legs sunk into the very stone up to his knees. Still unconscious, his arms dangled down limply above the gash in the floor where the great table had once stood proudly. Both of his dismembered hands lay on the cavern floor as a precaution; Bael had not wanted to take any chances with the other Faerie's deadly gift. No more mistakes._

 _He thought back on what had brought him to this place._

 _The Court had been virtually deserted when Baelerithon had once again found himself within the warren of darkened tunnels and winding corridors. The Unseelie had never faced such a dramatic drop in power as they had when the former King had overloaded the ley line network to destroy Alicante, and it appeared that many of the Fey had vanished until they could rebuild their strength._

 _Fortunately, he knew exactly where to go._

 _Iarlath's features had only slipped for a moment, a flicker of confusion that had come and gone too quickly to notice when Baelerithon had knocked on his door. Hidden deep within the Unseelie catacombs, the sorcerer's private chambers were well-known to the disgraced prince from his time spent plotting his ascension to the Seelie throne. Baelerithon, Malchezed, and Iarlath had spent many long hours secreted away from the rest of the Court as they had laid their plans; the brains, the brawn, and the power all working together as one._

 _But while Baelerithon had dreamed of a single, unified Court brought together through his elevation to Seelie King with the help of his Unseelie allies, Malchezed had schemed to reverse the binding of Sammaradriel's crown and claim both Courts for the Unseelie._

 _Coming to Iarlath now was a risk he had to take if he was succeed where Malchezed had failed, but Bael felt confident that the sorcerer would not have overcommited to either side; the sorcerer had lived far too long not to have learned how to follow the shifting tides of power._

 _Bael's unsettling black and amber split-coloured eyes had burned with intensity as he had related his tale to his old accomplice. Whether Iarlath read the look as a glimmer of madness or simple hatred for traitorous siblings, he had listened quietly as Bael had ranted in a rage at all that had been taken from him. In the end, the prince had lifted the Unseelie crown in his clenched fist and held it up for Iarlath to see._

" _But then this was given to me," Baelerithon had purred, delicately caressing the bronze with the fingers of his free hand. "This made everything that came before seem so much sweeter. I was_ chosen. _" He had looked up at Iarlath searchingly. Now for the hard part. "I can forgive you for your betrayal. Now you must do for me as you would have done for Malchezed. Help me turn it, Iarlath, and I will rain down destruction on the Seelie until there's only one Court, just as we envisioned. Ours."_

 _Iarlath had lifted one slim eyebrow in response and a spark of interest bloomed in his yellow eyes as he began dreaming of what it could all mean. But no need for Baelerithon to see the eagerness. Not yet. "Malchezed possessed that which you do not – the heir to the throne. My King never named his successor. Once Lord Gwyn was consigned to the Hunt, no other could have hoped to stand in his place. With no Eldest Heir anointed in the King's power…"_

" _... then any of the Unseelie heirs may serve instead," Bael had finished triumphantly._

 _The sorcerer peered around the room theatrically. "Have you brought one with you, Prince Baelerithon? I had rather thought that they were in short supply these days, and certainly none remain within the Court now."_

" _The very best hunters do not waste their time tracking, but anticipate where their prey will be instead," the Seelie had answered cryptically as he touched one of his temples in a conspiratorial gesture. "The King's remaining sons and daughters at Court will be wary of their siblings in the wake of his disappearance, but at least one son will not even realize that he must be on guard. He has all but forgotten that he was once a prince, and he has been away from the twisting cords of political entanglement for too long." At Iarlath's questioning look, Bael had let the name drip from his lips with deadly intent, "Caelus."_

 _A flash of delight had spread across the sorcerer's face before transforming into a cautioning glance. "It would be wise to be careful around one who possesses Caelus' particular... gift. Perhaps it would be simpler with another instead? An easier mark? Does Prince Kieran not still ride with the Hunt?"_

 _Bael had shaken his head negatively. "He has disappeared, as have all of the Hunters who now find themselves Unbound. Although I believe that I may easily divine where he will go with his new-found freedom, I would much prefer to leave a wild card like him on the table. He may yet choose to set himself against my brother and attempt to exact revenge for the history they share. A useful distraction from my own plans, if nothing else, and I do not wish to withdraw a blade from my enemy's throat simply because I do not grip the handle."_

" _But you still believe that you may catch Caelus unaware? What makes you so certain?"_

" _He was not difficult to read during my time with the Hunt," Bael had sighed. "Caelus has become accustomed to serving a master loyally, and in the absence of a Lord of the Hunt, he will return home to see if his father has a place for a son he once banished with little more than a whisper of an accusation and a false trial." He had tapped at his chin thoughtfully as he had reflected on his observations of the other Faerie's behaviour. "He wants to believe the best in others; he will believe that enough time has passed and all will be forgiven for what should never have been pressed."_

 _With a meaningful look at Iarlath, Bael had hardened his voice. "It will fall to you to ensure that he is captured without incident. You were a trusted advisor and long-standing courtier in his father's court. He will have no reason to doubt you."_

 _Caelus stirred above Bael, snapping the devious prince back to the moment at hand._

 _The Unseelie's mismatched brown and black eyes fluttered open and a low moan of horror escaped from his lips as he saw the smooth skin stretched over where his hands should have been and healed by his captor's gift. He caught sight of Baelerithon and blinked in confusion._

" _You..." His gaze fell on where his hands had been casually discarded near the edge of the broken font and he choked in revulsion. A tear escaped from the corner of one of his eyes and slowly trailed down his forehead. "What have you done?"_

 _Baelerithon sighed theatrically and brushed his long, black hair back from his face, smoothing the unclean tangle as best he could. "I'm almost sorry that it had to be you, Caelus. Of all the Hunters, I thought that you might have had the most gentle heart." He reached up as if he were going to touch the other man's face, but then let his hand drop back to his side. "You never belonged with them, did you?"_

 _Caelus glared down at his captor and clenched his teeth for a moment as he narrowed his eyes. "Free me and I will show you how very wrong you are about my gentle heart, traitor," he growled._

 _A wide smile broke across Bael's face and he clucked his tongue as he wagged a finger at the Unseelie. "Now, now, Caelus. You are not making a very compelling argument for me to let you down, are you? No, I think you'll stay right where you are until I'm finished."_

" _Finished what?" A note of fear crept into his voice. "What are you going to do?"_

 _In response, Bael lifted the Unseelie crown until it was nearly level with the older Hunter's eyes, but still well out of reach. "Your father never did declare an heir after your brother was cursed. Did you know that? He was_ so _certain of his own immortality," he sneered. "Truly, when he uncovered Vindictus' plan to strike while he was weakened after reaping vengeance against the Nephilim, he should have realized his error and recognized his vulnerability. Instead, he threw Vindictus to the Hunt and contented himself with seeing a dangerous adversary brought low and humiliated."_

 _Bael allowed himself a quick laugh as he drew an unlikely connection. "Perhaps it was simple spite and pride that kept him from choosing an heir. After all, my mother had named me as her Crown Prince less than a year earlier – could it be that he did not want to be seen doing the same so soon after she had?" He shook his head and chuckled to himself, murmuring, "It would not surprise me."_

" _Your talk of heirs means nothing to me, Baelerithon. Or is it your desire to bore me to death?" If Caelus had any reaction to seeing his father's crown, he was keeping it carefully masked._

" _Of course not," the Seelie prince said soothingly. "Few have ever pried into the deepest history of our Courts. Why would they? Our rulers were seemingly eternal; what cause would we have ever had to doubt that they wouldn't continue to hold their thrones indefinitely?" He tightened his free hand into a fist. "But_ I _pried, Caelus. After my mother threatened to destroy us all with her disastrous alliance with the Morgenstern creature, I knew that she could no longer be allowed to keep the crown."_

 _He nodded to himself reassuringly. "I heeded her dutifully and ingratiated myself further, even going so far as to agree to watch over my half-breed brother and keep him safe from my sister if she threatened to revert to her more... violent... nature. I studied the rites of succession very carefully, digging far back into our lore to find the scraps of knowledge that had survived from when our ancestors first chose to cast the metals of Heaven into the forges of Hell to create the crowns."_

 _Bael looked down at the ancient relic in his grasp and inhaled deeply. "We were so much more in those days, Caelus. They understood that even if our blood consigned us to either the Seelie or the Unseelie ranks, we would always possess that duality in our nature. And so the crowns were crafted to allow for the volatility of our ancestry. They could be made to serve_ either _side of our bloodlines, if only one were determined enough to embrace the other side of their heritage."_

 _The blue-white light of the ley font cast shadows over the two Faeries, one hanging nearly motionless, the other staring down into the flames longingly. Bael stretched out his hand and seemed to almost caress the air, curling his fingers inward rapturously as he breathed in. A tendril of the magic lifted out of the font at his call and snaked up his arm tenderly. Caelus' eyes widened in shock as the Seelie consumed the power with a euphoric smile and madness sparkling in his black and amber gaze. Bael shuddered with delight._

" _Impossible..." the doomed Hunter whispered in awe._

" _No," Baelerithon breathed. "The Eternal Forest showed me that I could be_ more, _showed me how to accept both sides of what we are. It taught me how to_ survive. _This," he gestured down to the font, "is in all of us. Latent, forgotten, pushed aside by centuries of ignorance, overwhelmed by pride in our superior angelic halves, but still present. We forgot that a half is not a whole without the other half."_

" _You must be mad..." Caelus started to protest. He was cut short when Baelerithon savagely backhanded him across the face, sending him rocking backward jarringly in his unconventional bonds._

" _Now all that remains is the transference, the ritual that will unlock what lies dormant within my blood while granting me your birthright." The Seelie prince slid a wickedly-curved blade out of a sheathe at his belt._

 _Caelus swallowed and watched the blade anxiously._

" _Unfortunately for you, dear Caelus, the descent from Seelie to Unseelie is significantly more unpleasant that the inverse. When Malchezed plotted to betray me and bend the Seelie crown to his own use, it would have required my willing surrender of my essence. For an Unseelie to receive such a precious gift... it would signal that they had passed the tipping point of the allegiance to which they had been born." Baelerithon snorted. "He was too stupid to see that even just taking me prisoner after the coup would have invalidated any sacrifice that I might have made, no matter how long he chose to wait for me to change my mind. He never could have succeeded. I concealed that secret from him and bided my time. I knew that if I made a show of considering his demands, I might be able to find a way to get my hands on the Seelie crown and put an end to his little double-cross."_

 _Bael's face darkened with anger. "But then my brother ruined everything. Him and that_ girl _," he spat. "They stole the crown and before I knew it, it was in my sister's greedy hands and I was exiled." He stared into the flickering light for a long moment before shaking his head as if to clear it._

" _Look at me, lost in the past. I digress." He cleared his throat. "As I was saying, an Unseelie could only make the transition by receiving the freely-given essence of one of the Seelie, an act of pure trust. Would you care to guess what a Seelie must do to achieve the opposite?" he asked slyly._

 _Caelus slowly shook his head as his heart sank._

" _I'll tell you anyway," Bael continued cheerfully. "Because it is your very_ unwillingly _given blood that I require. An act of pure evil. Poetic, don't you think?" He paused, but the other Faerie remained silent. "And with that blood," Bael added thoughtfully, "your birthright as an heir to the Unseelie throne, and perhaps even a flavour of your gift, if Iarlath is to be believed."_

 _Fear flashed through Caelus, jolting him out of his despondency. "No!" he shouted._

 _Delighted, Bael clapped his hands together excitedly. "Yes! I must confess that I've been very interested in what you could do ever since Kieran warned me. It was so much the opposite of my own ability that I wonder if it we were simply meant to be here, in this moment, together. Tell me – did you ever truly begin to care for my brother, or were you simply manoeuvring close enough to bring your magic to bear against him? I couldn't tell, and that's impressive in and of itself."_

 _Caelus lunged forward, trying to reach the mad prince, but Bael danced backwards with an exhilarated grin. The Unseelie glared fiercely at Baelerithon. "He's better than you, better than any of us. It gladdens me to know that he is free, and I pray that his blades may find your heart when next you meet."_

" _Curious..." Bael murmured absently. "Not the answer I expected, but it hardly matters now. I will allow him to enjoy his freedom just long enough to watch while everything he loves turns to ash."_

 _Two dark shapes passed through the doorway of the War Room and Bael turned around as Iarlath lowered his hood. The second, smaller figure, remained cloaked._

" _Your Grace," he greeted Baelerithon as he bowed. "Are you ready to proceed?"_

 _Caelus' struggles intensified as he once again recognized his father's favoured courtier. The sorcerer had captured him easily upon his return to the Unseelie Court, lulling him into a false sense of security with the familiarity of his presence before striking._

 _Desperate, the Hunter screamed at the once-loyal subject of the Unseelie throne. "Why are you helping him? You swore an oath!"_

 _Iarlath's yellow eyes widened in feigned hurt and he pressed one bark-like hand to his breast. "You wrong me, my prince. I swore an oath of service to the crown. Better, I believe, to shelter in the eye of the storm than to stand in its path." He gestured sharply and Caelus felt his body freeze as the binding spell took hold of him._

" _This storm will consume you," Caelus warned softly as Baelerithon removed his tunic and stepped into the ley magic font directly under the immobilized Faerie. Iarlath had assured him that the transference must be done here, where he had access to the purest connection to the ley magic through the link the old King had forged to the Eternal Forest for his retribution._

 _In response to the Hunter's warning, Iarlath only bowed his head and began chanting in a low voice, ancient words whispering through the chamber with deadly purpose. The blue-white light brightened in response and began pulsing eagerly in anticipation as if the font could sense what was to come._

 _Baelerithon's knife slashed upward and Caelus screamed as it sliced across the side of his face. His blood dripped down even as the Seelie tilted his head up to be stained. The warm, red, sticky fluid spattered across his forehead and fell into the flames below, fanning them higher. A low keening wove itself into Iarlath's steady spell-casting, and Caelus couldn't tell if the noise came from himself, Baelerithon, or something much darker through the font. At the doorway, still wrapped within the hood of her cloak, Taerynia closed her eyes, unable to watch._

 _Again and again, the blade flashed upward until Caelus' blood rained down, washing over Baelerithon in a macabre baptism of sin given unholy blessing by the screams of his rival. Iarlath's spell bonded with the blood, and the Seelie prince watched in wonder as his flesh seemed to_ absorb _the crimson cascade where it landed on him. The magic fused the Unseelie blood with his own, and, inspired by the rush of the sacrifice, he drew as deeply as he dared upon the ley magic at his feet._

 _It started as nothing more than the trickle to which he was accustomed, but as Caelus bled out over him, he felt the thin tendril of power grow thicker even as he pulled at it. Energy flooded into him in an overwhelming tide that threatened to sweep him away before he broke off the feeding almost drunkenly._

 _Baelerithon could feel the Eternal Forest's satisfaction ooze through him as it lapped up the scarlet drops that fell into the font, and he fell to his knees as new sensations ripped through his body. He looked down at his shaking hands and slowly flexed the fingers of his left hand, wondering at what power his touch might hold now. His right hand still held the Unseelie crown, made slick with Caelus' blood._

 _Iarlath's voice trailed off as his spell finished with the captive Hunter's death, and he watched the Seelie prince expectantly, curiously._

 _The ancient bronze crown felt heavy in Baelerithon's hands as he lifted it with a twinge of fascination in his heart._

" _King at last," he whispered as he gently lowered the circlet to rest above his brow. "De'nath al sonoriel me tel'aran rhe sion." A luxurious darkness wrapped his mind within its comforting folds as he felt the power of the crown sinking into his body. He could feel it seeping through his veins like the stolen birthright he had usurped, burning away what was left of his old self to replace it with something new..._

" _Long live the King," Iarlath recited reverently._

 _Baelerithon rose to his feet, still trembling slightly from the thrumming power that coursed through him. He turned his gaze upward to meet the dead Faerie's empty stare._

" _For the love you once bore my brother, it would be a shame if you were to miss his wedding, gentle Caelus," he mocked as he reached up and patted the Unseelie's cheek, no longer wary of his touch. "I'm sure that something can be done about that."_

 _The curved blade in his hand easily sliced through what was left of the Hunter's neck and Baelerithon tossed the head at Taerynia's feet. "A gift for the newlyweds. Make it presentable." He crossed the room to where a small ledge jutted out below the burnt-out map of Alicante. Wiping away some of the blood from his hands, he selected a small piece of parchment and lifted the Unseelie King's quill from its holder._ My quill. _His hand was steady as he wrote in his elegant script,_

 _Dearest brother,_

 _How fate twists to bring us that which we most desire._

 _Si vis pacem para bellum._

 _With gratitude,_

 _Baelerithon_

 _A tiny smile quirked up the corner of his mouth as he replaced the quill and passed the message to Taerynia. She failed to hide the disgust on her face as Baelerithon lifted Caelus' head by its hair and forced her to take it from him._

" _You will obey your King," he whispered menacingly. She turned her eyes down and dipped her head submissively. Baelerithon nodded in satisfaction. "Move unseen when you deliver my gift – I do not think the Nephilim will look kindly upon any Unseelie." He quietly gave her the location of where he had learned the ostentatious warlock was busily preparing Rayce's wedding and then dismissed her._

" _Shall I try to raise the courtiers, my King?" Iarlath asked tentatively, carefully observing Baelerithon as he watched Taerynia depart with her grisly offering. "The Court must be called back to pay fealty to you. It is within my power to locate some of them, and they will lead us to others."_

" _No," the Unseelie King answered. He rolled his shoulders back and the stumps of where his magnificent wings had once risen shifted with the movement. "I will not invite any challenge to my rule so soon. I have much still to learn." He looked down at his hands once more and felt the smile on his lips widen in anticipation._

" _But, my King, you -"_

 _In a flash, the Unseelie King lunged at the sorcerer and seized his throat in a powerful grip, squeezing threateningly as he slammed the tree-like Faerie back against the stone of the cavern wall. In a second mercurial shift, he calmed himself and leaned forward to speak softly in Iarlath's ear, "You presume too much."_

 _Yellow eyes shot open in shock and Iarlath choked as dark lines spread out from where the Unseelie King's hand was clamped over his neck. The sickly-looking black lines flaked away the Faerie's skin like old ashes and his mouth fell open in terror as he felt his life draining away. The light in the cave brightened in excited response._

" _Just a taste," the King promised before he released his uncertain ally and allowed him to sink to his knees. "You will await my orders patiently, Iarlath. You will not receive a second warning. I will not be betrayed again."_

 _Gasping to recover his breath, Iarlath braced himself on one hand and looked up at the former Seelie prince whom he had severely misjudged. He ducked his head back down when he met the burning black and amber eyes and schooled himself not to reach up and feel what sort of damage had been done._

" _Yes, your Grace. You are merciful."_

 _Once Iarlath had bowed his way out of the War Room, Baelerithon turned his attention to the map of Alicante that stretched across one wall. The once-glowing points on the beautiful rendition of the city_ _and surrounding countryside had gone dark, but they still held a certain fascination for the King._

" _Pulvis et umbra sumus," he mused quietly to himself, recalling his brother's lessons from Ezekiel. He stroked one slim, blue finger down the map until it rested right over the Gard. "Dust and shadows, brother."_

 _Caught up in dreams of what he wished to do to his brother and the girl who had destroyed all of his careful planning, he almost did not hear the soft clink of armour behind him as a hand slowly reached for the hilt of a sword. The enchantment against eavesdropping had completely covered any sound of approach._

 _The Unseelie King whirled around and instinctively drew on his new power from the crown to catch the intruder in mid-strike, paralyzing him in an instant._

" _Vindictus," he greeted the Hunter with a faint note of surprise in his voice. "This is no way to treat your King. I must confess that I did not think to find you here." His eyes strayed to silver filigree coronet that banded the Faerie's brow and understanding dawned on him._

" _You have no right," the Hunter growled, straining against the binding spell. "You are nothing."_

" _Nothing?" The King's eyebrow lifted questioningly. "I am everything." He drew energy from the font and let its tendrils wind around him sinuously like the coils of a snake as Vindictus watched, astounded. Before Caelus, it had been difficult to call the magic forth, but now it flowed effortlessly. "Born to the Seelie Court, I am not dependent on the ley magic to stave off Fading, though I may draw upon its power as I please. Baptized with the blood of an Unseelie heir and reborn through a ritual older than the thrones, I command the crown and all the strength it possesses."_

 _Baelerithon whipped out the curved blade with which he had stolen Caelus' birthright and he laid the flat on Vindictus' shoulder so that the edge lightly kissed the soft flesh of the Faerie Lord's neck. "By the blood of the Hunt in my veins, I am no longer weakened by cold iron, nor salt, nor grave dirt. One foot in this world, and one in the next. Who may stand against me, Vindictus? You?" The blade pressed inward by a fraction and a thin line of red appeared. "I think not."_

 _Possibilities swirled through Baelerithon's mind as he considered what gains he might achieve by harnessing the Unseelie's loyalty. With Kieran missing, he was running low on allies._

" _I can give you the power you seek if you will but yield to me, brother," the King whispered alluringly. "Kneel once, and then rise as my right hand. There is much that we may do together."_

 _Vindictus' pale blue and black eyes turned suspicious, but Baelerithon could see the hint of excitement deep within as the other Faerie asked, "Such as?"_

 _The King smiled conspiratorially. "I do believe that we owe a debt of vengeance against the Seelie Court for all of the Unseelie who were lost in Malchezed's failed coup." Easy enough to lay the blame on a dead man._

" _You mean against your sister?" Vindictus deduced. He felt the binding spell release his body and he lowered the sword in his grasp. Baelerithon gripped his shoulder in a brotherly fashion and squeezed once before letting go._

" _It will be so good to have someone at my side who sees so clearly, Vindictus. Join me, and we will raze the Seelie Court. The glory will be yours, and all that you once held will be returned to you and more."_

 _The Hunter did not pause for a moment. Hesitation now would mean certain death. He knelt swiftly and twisted his left hand over his heart as he laid down the sword in his right hand._

" _I am yours to command, my King."_

 _Baelerithon tilted the Hunter's chin up delicately, still marvelling at the power that he could now command._

" _Rise, Lord Vindictus, and let me share with you the secrets of the Seelie. My sister will not be able to stand against you."_


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

A deep red stain splashed across the dark, hardwood floor and crept toward the rich, espresso-coloured cabinets with deadly intent. The walls were nearly covered in the crimson hue, and witchlight from an over-turned lamp gleamed up from where it had fallen to cast a shining halo along the blackened, turn-of-the-century cast-iron stove.

"Aww, man!" Aspen Herondale groaned as the growing puddle of paint spread across the floor of the kitchen in Morgenstern Manor.

Hunter Lightwood poked his head through the doorway to the formal dining room and sighed dramatically. "Seriously, Asp? Again?" He rooted through a half-empty, plastic garbage bag in the corner to see if the rags from the last spill were still salvageable. With the much-oppressed air of a parabatai who was rapidly acquiring enough cleaning experience to impress even his formidable Jewish grandmother, he knelt down and started trying to mitigate the damage.

Hunter looked up at where his best friend was desperately scrubbing at the red smear down the right leg of her jeans with a rag from her back pocket and he snorted. "Do you think anyone has ever tested to see if like, a Sure-Strike rune or something can make you better at painting?"

Aspen narrowed her deep gold eyes at him dangerously and tossed her hair back huffily. "I don't know. Do you think anyone has ever tested to see if like, a Quietude rune or something can make you better at shutting up?"

"Yeah," he replied, sticking his tongue out. "You know, I think that's literally what it does, if I'm not mistaken."

She balled up the cloth and threw it her parabatai. Annoyingly, he caught it out of the air in one quick motion. "Just help me clean this up before Rayce sees," she hissed.

"Oh, for the love of Raziel," Hunter swore as he stuffed the scrap into the garbage bag behind him. "Rayce this, and Rayce that," he grumbled. "He. Is. Your. _Cousin_. Your _married_ cousin."

Aspen hopped down off the step-ladder, temporarily giving up on her jeans, and lunged forward in the blink of an eye to tackle Hunter sideways. They rolled twice before coming to a stop, both teenagers now wearing red-stained tank tops, and she pulled his arms up behind his back almost painfully as she stubbornly sat on his tailbone.

"Yeah, okay there, Hunter," she sang gloatingly as he struggled to free himself. "Like you're not all, _'Oooooh, Sera! Sure, Sera!_ ' all the time."

"Not my cousin," he grunted into the floor. It had been easy to forget Aspen's natural strength and speed while they had both been weakened by the advent of the near-fatal parabatai bond, but she had bounced back even faster than he had.

"She's still married," she reminded him sweetly as she she tugged threateningly on his arms.

"I'm just trying to be nice," he protested, panting. _Raziel,_ _she's going to break my arm if she keeps this up. How much of this is from her, and how much of this is from me?_ "Sera kind of saved our lives, if you remember."

The edges of the permanent Strength rune from Sera across his back were just visible under the thin shirt he was wearing in the early-August heat. The material clung damply to him with a mixture of fresh paint and sweat from the stuffy daytime heat of the manor.

"Yeah, I remember," Aspen said quietly, sobered by the memories of Hunter's pale face in the weak light of Helen and Aline's bedroom lamp on Wrangel Island. She eased her grip on him slightly.

"Is everything okay in here?" Rayce asked from the door that led to the main hall. A half-smile crept up the left side of his face as he took note of the third can of paint that day on its side and his cousin sitting broodingly on her best friend.

Aspen yelped something unprintable in surprise and stood up in a hurry, her face as red as the walls around her as she stammered an apology and promised to clean it up right away.

Rayce waved off her panic. "Don't worry, cousin. It's no use crying over spilled... paint." He winked mischievously and disappeared back around the corner, reassured that no disaster had befallen the teenagers.

" _Again_ ," Hunter muttered mutinously as he pushed himself back up to his feet and reached for another rag.

In the drawing room off to the left of the main foyer, Sera lifted another deep green, crushed velvet cushion off the couch and beat some of the residual dust off it with a sigh. White sheets had protected most of the furniture when they had come to open the place up a few days ago, but she was starting to have serious doubts that the manor would ever be dust-free. It seemed impossible to imagine after decades of neglect.

She turned her head as Rayce returned and felt her breath hitch in her chest. It was still hard to believe that she had gotten him back. _Hell, it's still hard to believe that I got him, period_. She glanced down at where the Morgenstern family ring still rested on her left hand. According to Shadowhunter customs, she should have returned it to him once they had wed, but she hadn't really gotten around to it. Things had gotten a bit... hectic...

"Is everything okay" Sera asked, forcing the image of a dead Faerie's head in a box out of her mind. _Definitely_ _n_ _ot sending a thank-you card for that one._

"That depends on how you feel about having a red floor in the kitchen," Rayce dead-panned. He had been spending some time with Zeke since the wedding, and Sera had to admit that she approved of the effect it was having on her husband. It seemed to be keeping him grounded, and she felt her worry about him slipping back into the darkness of the Hunt fade with each passing day. Mark's tormented face flickered in her mind for a moment before she pushed that thought away, too.

Sighing, she pushed her hand back through her gold and platinum hair and closed her eyes. "Kids."

Rayce slipped around behind her and lowered his face until he could brush his lips along her neck as he laced his fingers with hers and wrapped them around her waist, brushing his thumbs across her still-flat abdomen. "It'll be our turn soon enough," he reminded her gently.

"Yeah... still freaking out about that," she mumbled as her brain struggled to function when his kisses trailed down along the curve of her shoulder and she let herself lean back into his embrace.

He paused and she twisted to look up at him. His brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Aren't you happy about it?"

Sera turned in the circle of his arms and hooked her index fingers into the belt loops at the front of his jeans, confidently pulling him closer. "I am," she insisted, unsure of whether she was trying to convince herself or her husband at this point. "It's just... a few weeks ago, I was single. Now I'm married and going to have kids."

"Me too," he whispered, cupping her face gently and turning it up so that he could kiss her slowly. He parted her lips with his, exploring softly with the tip of his tongue even as he ran his hands up her back wonderingly.

Sera inhaled deeply, savouring the moment for another few seconds before reaching up and laying her hand on his chest to push him back a little. "You won't be the one puking their guts out," she said with a dark look.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips as a smile played across his lips. "But I'll be waiting happily at your side to hold your hair back for you," he said cheerfully, dodging a punch from her free hand that was aimed at his side. He folded his arms around her and drew her against his chest. "We're in this together."

Sera felt her throat tighten and her eyes stung with tears. She sniffed and tilted her head back to look up at the ceiling in annoyance. "If these goddamn pregnancy hormones could just _not_ do this to me, that would be great," she sighed, exasperated. "I feel like I need to go kill something. Violently. Before I turn into a soggy mess."

"Did somebody say 'kill something violently'?" Jace asked as he barged into the drawing room with a heavy box in his arms. He shifted the load to his hip and winked at Sera. "You really _should_ go on patrol. I still remember when Clary and Izzy were pregnant with the kids – even _I_ stayed out of their way."

Rayce ducked his head, laughing, but Sera glared at him dangerously through slitted eyes. "Were you just _waiting_ in the hall for a good entrance line?"

The older Shadowhunter grinned in response. "Honestly, I was going to come in when you mentioned puking your guts out, but I figured I would wait a bit longer and see if something better came up."

"Mmhmm," Sera muttered under her breath. "And exactly _what_ do you want me to go out hunting? I thought we fixed that."

"So far, so good," he said defensively. "The research team left for Wrangel Island two days ago to start testing the wards. Aline refused to leave until she had gotten her claws on Magnus and forced him to return all of their furniture. He's been hard to find since-"

A crash from the kitchen rattled along the floorboards and all three Shadowhunters turned their heads in unison.

"What was that?" Jace asked from a slight crouch despite the box in his arms.

"Probably red cupboards," Rayce answered helpfully with a faint smile.

Jace rolled his eyes and went into dad-mode. "I'll go." He twisted sideways as he left, narrowly avoiding a collision with his parabatai as he turned the corner.

"Consul?" Sera greeted him, surprised on several levels. She hadn't seen him since the wedding, and the dark shadow of a beard matched the circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted. "Are you okay?"

Alec waved off her concern. "I'm fine. You know how it is, going back to work after a vacation. You forget how hard you were working yourself."

She exchanged a guilty look with Rayce and he shrugged apologetically. "Never had a job," the half-Faerie prince admitted.

"Me either… and your definition of a vacation needs a serious readjustment," Sera added.

Alec's eyes clouded over with concern and he looked up unconsciously. "Then all of this... I should have thought, should have realized." He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he added one more thing to his never-ending list of things to do. "I'll get the paperwork moving so that you can both start drawing your salaries from the Clave. I didn't even think about how you would afford the restorations for all of-"

Sera grinned unexpectedly. "You need to chill. There _are_ actually some benefits to my gift that don't end up with me getting locked up under Alicante. I've got a pretty nice fortune saved up, to be quite honest..." She saw Alec's brows turn downward as he frowned. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "Are you aware that the law requires a tithe to be paid on all income generated by Shadowhunters operating in the Mundane world?"

Sera felt her stomach lurch, and it had nothing to do with the early stages of her pregnancy. Faintly green, she put on the ghost of a smile. "Um... I guess that depends on whether or not we're on or off the record right now."

A light shone in Alec's eyes for a moment. "And I suppose _that_ would depend on whether or not you're guilty of tax evasion."

"By the Angel," Sera sighed dramatically as she threw her forearm across her eyes and collapsed backwards onto the couch in a puff of dust. Rayce looked utterly lost as his deep green eyes shifted between his wife and the Consul. "It's official," she announced. "The newest Morgenstern is a white-collar criminal, through and through. Blood calls to blood. I'm a villain. And now you're here to cart me off." She closed her eyes and held out her wrists in resignation.

The Consul laughed quietly and felt a bit of the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders for the last week lift. _After everything she's been through..._ His eyes shifted to where Rayce was still standing in bewilderment. _After everything both of them have been through... Still..._ The real reason behind his visit gnawed at him.

"We'll discuss it later," he assured her.

Almost too quietly to hear, he heard her say, "We will?" He chose to leave it alone and buy a bit of time before he had to deal with what he had been uncovering. "I came to tell you that three days ago, Executor Rosales agreed to assign a Centurion task force to search for any trace of the former Hunters."

Rayce's head snapped up at the mention of the Hunt. "Any sign of my brother?"

"Nothing yet," Alec said grimly

Rayce breathed shallowly and felt memories, his own and Gwyn's, of those feral faces rise in his mind. What he could access through his predecessor's recollections had grown more faint and dim since he had been freed, but they were still there, lurking below the surface in darkness, waiting. Kieran's glittering eyes flashed across his vision for a moment and he felt a chill as he contemplated what would happen between them when they fought for a third time. _The last time,_ he vowed to himself.

"Any of the others?" He forced himself to ask, banishing the conniving Faerie from his thoughts. "Or the Unseelie?"

Alec shook his head and repeated gently, "Nothing yet." He glanced sideways at Sera. "If you'll forgive me, Rayce, I would like to speak to Sera in private for a moment."

"Of course, Consul," he answered smoothly, bowing out of old habit and neatly stepping away to leave them alone in the drawing room. Although he could move silently when he chose, he let them hear his footsteps fade down the hall as he went to check on whatever new disaster was waiting for him in the kitchen.

Sera swallowed nervously. _This can't be good. What am I in trouble for?_ Guilty thoughts ran rampant through her mind as her _mnemosyne_ rune reminded her with stunning clarity of all the laws she had broken in recent weeks. _Okay, fine_ , she huffed inwardly, _what am I_ not _in trouble for?_

"I kind of thought the tax thing would wait a bit longer," she ventured halfheartedly.

Alec's mouth tightened into a thin line and any suggestion that he was going to continue with the light banter from earlier vanished from his face. "I didn't come to talk about that, Sera. I wanted to ask you a few questions about some things that haven't been adding up."

 _Shit._ Sera kept her mouth shut.

"Executor Rosales had some very unfortunate news to report from his team's initial findings during their search for stray Hunters. Are you familiar with a place in Prague called the Bone Chandelier?"

Even her best poker face wasn't going to help her now, and she felt the sinking feeling in her gut drop lower as the Consul continued.

"Some members of the Wild Hunt have been known to show themselves in the popular Downworlder haunt, and Diego felt that they might fall back into old habits once they were released. He was dismayed to find that his request for a meeting with the establishment's long-time owner, Andrej, could not be accommodated, as the ancient vampire had recently been killed by a patron."

Sera could almost smell the dusky, primal, distinctly masculine scent of Andrej again, feel his breath on her neck as the hallucinogen had cloaked him in Rayce's appearance. Shame flooded through her as she remembered her breathless urgency, remembered pulling him closer until he had bitten down and unleashed a torrent of desire that had been amplified by the club's most popular drug. The vampire's hazel eyes had stared back at her in a daze once the illusion had been counteracted with a mouthful of antidote.

 _What are you?_ The vampire had asked in a daze from the taste of her blood.

 _A murderess,_ she answered him now, feeling the judgement in the Consul's eyes. _A liar_ , she whispered inside as she thought about everything she had been concealing from Rayce.

 _Selfish,_ Everett's voice hissed in her mind.

"The most curious part came up when Diego used a favour to speak to a bartender who recalled a beautiful Faerie woman who paid a ridiculous sum for the very last meeting Andrej ever had. A Faerie who, he said, didn't smell like a Faerie at all." He watched her with those penetrating blue eyes, searching for a reaction. When she remained silent, he changed his tack.

"In my own private investigation into what we may expect from the Unseelie Court following the death of their King, I've encountered a great number of creatively twisted answers from our friend Cassius - at least, when I've been able to find him." The Greater Faerie had spent a very limited amount of time in Idris, mostly to stay near Zeke while the ex-Shadowhunter had been spending time with Rayce. Cassius had chosen to remain within the borders of Brocelind Forest to avoid being spotted by any errant Nephilim, but Sera had a sneaking suspicion that the Consul's parabatai would have been more than equal to the task of finding the strange Faerie if asked.

"Ezekiel says even less, and I can hardly compel him to break his silence. He was expelled from the Clave over forty years ago, even if I have a hard time wrapping my head around that concept when he looks the same age as Rayce. But I get the feeling," Alec said with an edge in his voice, "that there's something they aren't telling me about the circumstances surrounding the King's sudden death."

Sera turned her eyes down to study the grain of the dark hardwood floor under her feet. _Murderess. Liar. Selfish._ She felt the words like brands inside her.

"Before the wedding last week," Alec pressed on, "the Portal map log in the Gard recorded an entry that originated from my sister's home in Alicante and terminated in Santa Monica. Not long after, a second entry reported an error – 'destination not found'. And then a third entry from Santa Monica back to Alicante."

 _That fucking map,_ Sera swore, even as she mentally banged her head against a wall for once again forgetting Clary's warning that she had to be careful with her usage of Portals.

"Not only as someone who may have once called him a friend, but also in my capactity as Consul, I know where Mark Blackthorn has been hidden for all these years. So do you. What happened that night, Sera? We were all staying with Simon and Isabelle. You could have asked anyone for help, even Rayce, but I don't think you did. What are you hiding from him?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. This was far worse than anything she had felt while testifying against Everett with Maellartach clenched in her hand. The Consul's tone... he hadn't raised his voice, hadn't thrown a shred of outright accusation at her. He just sounded... disappointed.

"Kieran," she said quietly. She looked up and read the recognition written across the Consul's features. It was a name that he would know from what had happened with all of those damn Blackthorns twenty years ago. "I saw him go after Mark in a dream. He wanted... he..." she trailed off, wondering how much of the tale was really hers to tell, how much the Consul really knew about what had been between the two Hunters both before and after Mark's Unbinding. "I owed Mark, owed him for the pain I caused by tracking him down and asking him to dredge up memories that he wanted to keep buried." She had the good grace to look ashamed. "I had already broken the peace of the new life he had built with his family – I just wanted to stop anyone else from hurting him." Her eyes pleaded with the Consul to understood her desperate need to protect the vulnerable Shadowhunter who had endured so much suffering.

"And then?" Alec's face gave no sign one way or another if he was swayed by the emotion in her voice.

"I killed that Faerie bastard," Sera confessed in a whisper, as if saying it quietly could lessen the harshness of the truth. "I used a Portal to dump his body where it wouldn't be found. I didn't tell Rayce... the two of them have a... history." She saw a flash from the dream that had started it all, saw the hurt in the young Faerie Knight's eyes as the Hunter had screamed at him that he was not a Shadowhunter while Gwyn had dragged the heartbroken Unseelie away. She saw the curling blue and black snake in another dream, watched as it hissed in Rayce's ear and lured him into taking on the mantle of the Hunt. Something in Alec's face told her that her answer wasn't good enough, and she dropped her head in humiliation. "I didn't want him to know that I... what I had... what I am."

 _Murderess. Liar. Selfish._

The Consul didn't give an inch. "The others?"

Heat rushed to her face and was promptly drained away when her _mnemosyne_ rune showed her the sickly matrix of dark lines bleeding away from the burning runes etched into the Unseelie King's flesh. _Murderess._

"Also me." She kept her answer short and prayed that he didn't probe deeper.

 _Liar._

Alec exhaled and lifted a hand to scrub across the shaded growth of stubble across his jaw. He looked _so_ tired. And it was no wonder, if this is what he had been dealing with all week. _Because of me._ She would be Stripped, if not executed outright, if she admitted to using Marks to torture and Turn a Faerie into a Forsaken.

 _Selfish._

"You _can't_ just kill your way through everything, Sera," Alec admonished her softly, moving forward to close the distance between them. "And that's coming from someone who's spent a lifetime bonded to a guy who might actually have ' _Kill your way through everything_ ' tattooed on his ass." She couldn't bring herself to match the tiny smile that lifted the corner of the Consul's mouth, and then it was gone.

"Andrej was a _very_ law-abiding Downworlder, and he successfully managed the Bone Chandelier for decades. Prague is one of the premiere cities in the world for the level of cooperation within its Downworld, thanks in no small part to the way that club was run by him. Even New York isn't on par with what Prague has. The only piece of good news is that you at least had the sense to disguise yourself as Fey." He rubbed at his temple for a moment. "At least they aren't clambering for Nephilim blood, though it might cause trouble for what I'm planning later if they don't settle down."

Remorse burned through Sera and her eyes stung. She kept her voice low, but winced when it cracked anyway from the lump in her throat. "Are you... are you going to arrest me?"

"Sera," he sighed. "How _can_ I, after what you did on Wrangel Island? You've put me in a hell of a spot. ' _Sed lex dura lex'_ be damned. The only way I'm going to be able to sleep at night is if I tell myself that you weren't part of the Clave when you did those things, not truly."

His face grew even more serious as he ran his fingers back through his messy black hair. "If you're going to live here, going to start a life here, going to start a _family_ here, you can't hold yourself above the law. You're one of us now – act like it. Other Morgensterns have forgotten that in the past, and I don't want you to fall into the same trap."

She finally felt the tears that had been threatening to fall go streaking down her face. _Fucking pregnancy hormones._

Seeing her tears, Alec reflexively reached out to pull her into a hug and temporarily set aside the part of him that was Consul.

"Start fresh, Sera," he said quietly. He felt her face press into his chest as she nodded.

Neither of them heard the light footsteps that would have marked Clary's arrival, so both of them jumped when her voice called from the doorway, "Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all," Alec replied lightly. He turned to block Clary's view as Sera surreptitiously swiped her hands across her cheeks. "I have to get back, anyway."

Clary looked at him and raised her eyebrows over the heap of bottles and rags in the box she was carrying. "Magnus has been gone for four days and you already look like _this_?" She clucked her tongue. "You need to take better care of yourself. If Izzy sees you like that, she'll lock you in your room."

"The perils of temporarily living under my sister's roof," Alec lamented. "Maybe I should just start sleeping in my office."

"Don't you dare. I'll set Max and Rafe on you if I have to," Clary threatened.

"I'm sure they're very busy," Alec said hastily under his breath as he squeezed by the diminutive Shadowhunter and made a break for the front door.

Clary's clear green gaze narrowed as she watched him disappear and then she looked back at Sera, discreetly choosing not to see the younger woman's slightly reddened eyes and the tear tracks that had survived her hasty swipe. She hefted the box and gave it a bit of a shake. "I figured you guys might need some of this stuff with Aspen on the loose."

Sera thought she recognized a few cleaning products, possibly even some paint remover if she was lucky. _Maybe we_ won't _have red floors or cabinets._

"I guess I should really apologize," Clary said a bit more seriously than Sera thought was warranted.

"It's just paint," Sera said dismissively.

"No, I mean for not showing you the birth control rune when I shared Portalling."

Sera's mouth fell open; she couldn't help it. "What?"

"Oh, come on," Clary huffed. "You _have_ to be a tiny bit nervous by now. I was your age the first time Jace asked me to marry him, and I can't even imagine what I would have been feeling if I'd been pregnant."

"The _first_ time?" Sera asked incredulously. She was more than a little surprised to hear anyone else voice this side of the picture. Everyone else had just congratulated her and Rayce like it was the most natural thing in the world to meet, fall in love, get married, and start a family all within a few weeks. In light of that, she had figured that maybe that was the way it had happened for all of them, and that made _her_ the weirdo by comparison.

"You heard me," Clary laughed. "It's a big commitment and I wasn't ready yet. I had my reasons." Her eyes unfocused as if she were looking back through the years to a different time. "It can all be so overwhelming. Nephilim... we love so fiercely, so _hard_ , that sometimes it feels like you don't have a choice. I wanted to wait until it was _my_ decision, until I was ready, and not just do it because it was what everyone expected me to do."

"I want him," Sera declared with unwavering certainty as she unconsciously curled her fingers into her palms.

"We know," the other woman assured her with a touch on her shoulder to ease the tension. "Why do you think no one objected at your wedding?

"Because everyone had seen Rayce use that staff?" Sera offered innocently, sparking a round of laughter that melted away some of the stress she didn't even know she had been carrying.

"Because we knew you wanted each other, and there isn't a shadow of a doubt that you'd do anything to stay together." Clary's face fell a bit and she directed a meaningful look at Sera's stomach. "But make sure that you're ready for the next step, too."

Sera gave her a weak smile. "I've got eight or nine months to get ready, right?"

"I'll be here if you need someone to talk to," Clary promised with a twinge of sadness.

For the third time that morning, Sera felt her eyes well up. _There has to be something I can do about the crying thing. May I_ should _go out and kill something._

 _You can't just kill your way through everything,_ Alec's voice chided her again.

 _I'm beginning to understand the ice cream thing now,_ Sera thought savagely as she squashed the confusing tide of emotions vying for attention in her mind.

"Thank you," she blurted out to distract herself, "for all the help around here. I know you have your own problems with Herondale Manor right now..."

"Bah," Clary snorted. "I don't even know where to start with all of that mess. We had most of our valuables safely locked away in the family vault, but all the day-to-day things..." She sighed and looked around the dusty furniture and grimy windows. "Sometimes it's just easier to deal with this instead."

Aspen's shriek of laughter from the living room cut their conversation short and both women went to see what was happening now.

They found Aspen doubled over laughing in front of her parabatai, who was just shaking his head faintly. Rayce was red-faced and looked a bit embarrassed near the heavy curtains that covered the bay window, and Jace just looked plain confused.

"Problem?" Clary asked with a delicate arch in her eyebrow.

Rayce refused to answer and crossed his arms in annoyance. Perhaps his patience with his cousin was finally reaching the end of its tether.

"He asked," Aspen gasped, pointing at Rayce, "if we should be worried about Doxies in the curtains."

Later that night, after the Herondales and Hunter had gone back to Simon and Isabelle's home in the city, Sera paused for a moment in front of the cloudy mirror over the bureau of drawers in the master bedroom. A small box containing twin necklaces of Faerie design rested on top of the scarred wood. A small box that she tried to avoid looking at whenever she could. They were a wedding gift from the Queen of the Seelie Court, and Sera was more than a little concerned about what hidden surprises might lay within. She wanted to ask Seraphine to check them out, but her friend had left four days earlier with Magnus to try to learn as much as she could about the unchanging red rings around her irises that were a side effect of the tremendous amount of power that had been channelled through her on Wrangel Island.

"I'm telling you," Rayce said from where he was watching her in the doorway of the ensuite washroom, toothbrush in hand, "I don't think she would send something harmful." He remembered his sister's sad story about the Blackthorn children with a pang. "She's not like that."

But Sera remembered all too well how the cunning Queen had dispatched two brothers with one stroke and hardly a tear to shed for it. She remembered the warning in Kaelie's eyes as the handmaiden had haltingly told her that Arynessa and Solarius were a good match, whatever that meant. The Rift Lord was still a big, fat question mark in her mind, too, for that matter.

"We don't have to worry about it yet," she said wearily as she crawled under the cocoa- and cream-coloured covers and flopped back onto the plush pillows that had been part of the set they had received as a gift from Seraphine with a note that read, ' _The first one's on me.'_ The room darkened a moment later and she felt Rayce slip into his side of the bed on her left.

 _His side._ She exhaled through her nostrils and grappled with her amazement again. _Like it's always been like this... but not._

His fingers skimmed down her left arm lazily as he laid propped up on one elbow in the near-darkness. A bit of moonlight filtered through the open window and played off the brightness of his white hair, turning it almost silver in the shadows. The curve of his smile came into focus as her eyes adjusted and she rolled over to face him without interrupting the gentle stroking.

"Why is all of this so easy for you?" Sera whispered. It didn't make sense. She had been working toward this happily-ever-after, albeit without the severed heads and vengeful Faerie warriors, for half of her life, and he hadn't even known that she'd existed until a few weeks ago. Crickets hummed quietly out in the darkness.

He caught her hand and lifted it to his mouth, brushing soft kisses across her fingertips for a moment as he thought carefully about the question. "Perhaps it's because I've felt not only the pain of losing _you,_ but I can also remember Gwyn's pain over losing Veralysia. Centuries worth of it," he whispered back. He paused with her hand poised in his own before saying so softly that she almost didn't hear him, "I've tasted death, and it makes me want to _live_."

She felt a twinge of guilt. There was still so much that she didn't know about what had happened to him while he had worn the cloak. She trailed the back of her hand down his face. "When you're ready... if you need to talk about... whatever..."

The faint light gleamed across the silver stars of the Morgenstern family ring on her finger as she grazed her fingers down his cheek and his eyes were drawn down to the band.

Sera caught him looking and asked, "Should I give this back to you now? I don't know if I'm supposed to keep it after we did the rune thing..."

She couldn't see the shadow that fell across his eyes as he remembered his own internal struggle against his father's darkness, his own, in truth, but she felt it when he closed her fingers and wrapped his hand around hers. He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"Keep it for now. Maybe it'll do you more good than it did me."

Sera laid awake listening to Rayce's breathing slow and even out as he quickly fell asleep, but she found herself afraid of letting herself drift into her dreams. She closed her eyes as if she could block out the faces of those she had killed, but they only stared back at her from her memories.

The ghost of Kieran's petulant scowl made her flinch, and she almost reached out to shake Rayce awake and confess what she had done, but she stopped herself. _Not when he's still healing from the Hunt,_ she told herself. _I'm strong enough to hang in there until I know he's going to be okay._

She rolled over onto her side, away from Rayce, and tried to get comfortable. The threads of her gift hung slack in her mind and waited for her to take up the reins to try searching for any sign of what the Unseelie were up to, or to look for the missing Hunters again, but she shrugged away from the lure of dreams with uneasiness settled in her gut. As always, the magic of the Courts blocked her without Rayce there to anchor her visions, and she had had no luck finding even a hint of the Hunters so far without anything to go on.

 _No._ Tonight, with Alec's admonishment still weighing heavily on her mind, she worried about what she might find if she let herself slip into her dreams. Silver and black eyes widened in pain once more and went flat even as she watched the life bleed out of the Faerie again. She _wanted_ to tell Rayce, but she didn't know how to do it without hurting him now that she had already covered it up.

 _Liar_.

She rubbed at her eyes tiredly and willed herself to drop off into a dreamless sleep. As she drifted away into darkness, she tried not to think, but one thought squeaked through.

 _Who else is going to pay for my lies?_


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Mark stretched his arms out on either side of his body and brushed his hands slowly through the blades of grass in his backyard, feeling the tickle along his arms and relishing the simple pleasure as he looked up at the night sky and sighed. The cooler evening air kissed his bare chest to trace along the old, faded rune scars, and the more ragged scars from the darkest part of his life. He breathed deeply, pushing those memories away. He found the brightest stars above him and named them mutely, reverently.

 _Cristina. Lucas. Micaela. Esmeralda._

A faded plastic jungle gym in the corner of the yard stood as a silent sentinel over his nightly vigil, and a few toys dotted the lawn, discarded for the day. He made a mental note to put them away for the girls before Cristina got home from her late shift on patrol and was displeased. He secretly enjoyed the nights when he had to make dinner and put the kids to bed. He had come a long way from pudding-slathered toast with Pepsi-chocolate milk-sour cream milkshakes. It had been years since he'd given Cristina good cause to exclaim, _"_ _¡Qué desastre!"_ Well. About dinner, at least.

He allowed himself a small smile as he remembered those days. Sera's coming had unlocked many things from the past that he had thought would be buried forever, as if her brightness had burned away a dark film over his memory. She had woken up a part of him that had lain carefully dormant, so much so that he had even answered the horn's call when it had drawn him to the hills near Ojala. Until then, it had been like half of his mind had been asleep, uncaring and unfeeling, to protect the rest of himself.

Another old memory sent a flash of heat through him as he remembered blue-black hair spilled carelessly over a pillow years ago in a comfortably-mussed bed, and he heard Kieran's achingly familiar voice in his mind.

" _Come with me, then. Stay with me. I saw the look on your face when you saw the horses of the Hunt. You would do anything to ride again."_

Mark had been furious back then, still too new to what it had meant to be Unbound, and he had hissed back defiantly, " _Not anything."_

And then Kieran's excited response as he had caught hold of Mark's shirt and locked eyes with him: " _There. Be angry with me, Mark Blackthorn. Shout at me._ Feel _something."_

He banished the rest of the scene and forced it out of his mind. The more dangerous side of Sera's catalytic visit was that _all_ of his old memories were resurfacing, and it hurt to admit how many of them showed Kieran's face. Angry, sullen, elated, breathless, fierce, focused, laconic, sly... a hundred expressions were burned into his mind that he would never forget, not even the ones he wanted to. Heart-broken, pleading, despairing, and achingly hopeful...

If Kieran wanted him to _feel_ something, he certainly was now. He _felt_ shattering empathy for his strange uncle who now bore Gwyn's cloak and duty. He saw so much of himself in Rayce, recognized his struggle as the same one he himself had fought, and lost, all those years ago. He didn't regret leaving his witchlight with his kin.

But he had also _felt_ the lure of the Hunt again, more strongly than he had in years, and he had let himself be pulled in again, even when he had sworn that he would not. He had been on guard ever since, easily resisting a call to the other side of the world and far to the north. Since then, he hadn't heard anything, and the silence wore at him almost as much as the sound of the horn would have.

 _How long has it been? A week?_ _Two weeks?_ The winds had quieted and the stillness had taken on an insidious edge in his mind, emphasizing just alone he was. He wondered if that was why memories of Kieran had been pushing forward more insistently.

Again, in his mind, he heard himself make the same confession to his complicated friend and lover that he had two decades ago. _"I have needed you to live. I've always needed you so much, I never had a chance to think about whether we were good for each other or not."_ Over twenty years had passed since then, and he still wasn't sure what his answer was...

 _No,_ he told himself firmly.

 _Cristina. Lucas. Micaela. Esmeralda._

It was easy here, laying in his backyard, surrounded by all the pieces of his family that held him together. But amidst the flickering flames along the side of a desolate stretch of highway that had been crawling with Shadowhunters busily rigging a trap for a dragon, it had been hard, _so_ hard, to say no.

" _Ride with me,"_ Kieran had breathed excitedly, his desire for Mark completely unaffected by the decades that had separated them.

Mark had scrambled for any excuse not to go, anything to stand between himself and what he so desperately wanted to do.

" _They'll kill me, Kier. They hate everything I am. Shadowhunter. Half-breed. Unbound. Only Gwyn's command stayed their hands, and I do not know if death would have released them from obeying his orders. Please do not ask this of me."_

Then Kieran's graceful fingers had slid through Mark's hair just once, just the faintest brush, and he had felt a fracture in the barrier inside himself that held back the torrent of desire for everything the prince offered. The Hunter's parting words had driven a spike into that fracture and cracked it further.

" _Then I can wait, Mark. I told you once before; you are all that exists on the earth and under the sky that I do love. What I do tonight, I do for you."_

If Kieran came back, would he be strong enough to resist the lure of his touch? _Perfect_ Diego had pulled him back from the brink outside of Ojala, but he was far away now. Who would stand between himself and the Hunter the next time?

 _Cristinalucasmicaelaesmeralda._

Mark pushed himself away from the grass and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and letting his head dip forward. He squeezed his eyes shut and refused to look up at the stars for fear of being swept away again. He needed to get back inside, needed to see their faces to remember that he was stronger than the lingering taint of the Hunt.

He uncoiled his lithe body and crossed the lawn to pull open the sliding door that led to the kitchen, leaving the night sky and its temptations behind him.

A vaguely-familiar, fetid smell in the air was the first thing he noticed when he slipped into the house, his half-Faerie senses slightly more acute than a human's, and he froze. Inhaling deeply, the faint reek assaulted his nostrils and his mind raced to identify the scent even as his pulse kicked up a few notches.

There was _something_ in his home.

 _Something_ was threatening his children.

He snatched a pair of blades from the kitchen block and silently crept toward the hallway on bare feet. His fingers curled tightly around the handles of the chef's knife and carving knife in his hands, and he felt as if every minute of training he had ever received had suddenly snapped back into place. His body was taunt but loose, his breathing quick but even.

The darkened hallway stretched away from him toward the back of the house, all of the doors closed except the one on the end that led to the master bedroom. Only the thin line of Esmeralda's night-light shone through the crack under her door. He padded quietly onto the worn runner that ran down the hall and he stayed close to the left side as he approached the first door. _Lucas._

Mark swapped the knife in his left hand to his right so that he could gently ease the doorknob, turning it carefully to avoid making any noise, and then he pushed the door open a crack to peer inside.

The moonlight filtering through the open window was enough to see the faces of the rock bands on his son's posters standing as mute witnesses to the empty bedroom. The sheets were hanging off the bed in a tangled snarl alongside a few heaps of clothes that Cristina would no doubt have had something to say about. The odd scent in the house was slightly stronger here, and Mark felt his heart leap into his throat. He wanted to scream, to shout his son's name and go pounding down the hall to the girls' rooms, but his instincts told him to stay silent and keep his cool. He left the bedroom door open as he turned on the ball of his foot and slowly stalked toward the next door, on the right. _Micaela._

The house was _too_ quiet now, any of its white noise lost in the sound of rushing blood in his ears. The hum of the refrigerator, the whisper of ceiling fans, everything had been muted until he was certain that whatever was in the house would be able to hear his racing heart beat and ragged breaths.

His hand shook slightly as he reached for the second doorknob and opened the door with the same slow movements as before.

Faded, sheer yellow curtains blew lazily in the breeze coming through the window, almost seeming to wave mockingly at Mark as if to say, ' _Missing something?'_ The only occupants of the single bed were a pair of stuffed animals that had seen better days, their black eyes staring back at him accusingly from the pushed-back sheets.

Panting faintly, Mark adjusted his grip on the knives. His palms were sweating.

He turned his split-coloured eyes up to the last closed door in the hallway and exhaled as quietly as he could. _Esmeralda._

When he was standing level with the door, he strained his senses, trying to catch a hint of what might be waiting on the other side. The smell was definitely stronger here, and he thought he could hear a muffled sniffle from inside. A burst of terror-fueled heat flashed through his veins and he abandoned the caution he had been relying on.

The door burst inward and he followed like the wind, blades in hand, only to draw up short just over the threshold.

Lucas and Micaela were sitting back-to-back on the floor, tied together and gagged, their ankles bound tightly to prevent them from escaping. Tear tracks marred both frightened faces in the orange glow of the night-light as their heads whipped around to see their father coming to rescue them, but it wasn't his elder children that caused him to freeze in place.

Esmeralda was reclining dreamily against the mottled red and grey chest of a squat Faerie in her bed, seemingly lost in some sort of enchantment as her unfocused eyes followed patterns in the air that remained hidden to the others. Rough, black hair covered the Faerie, almost concealing the nubs of horns on his head where it was longer and unkept. Filthy pants clung to legs that tapered down into satyr hooves. A reeking, rotting smile greeted Mark.

"Look, little one," Fiorinor cooed in Esmeralda's ear. "Daddy's here."

"Pretty lights, daddy," his daughter slurred distractedly, still trapped inside whatever vision the Hunter had conjured to keep her pacified. She didn't even seem to notice the chipped and stained dagger at her throat, but Mark did. His hands twitched on his knives and Fiorinor's dagger jerked higher in response as he pulled Esmeralda's head up to expose her vulnerable neck.

"Now, now," he warned gleefully. "You wouldn't want to do anything foolish, would you, _daddy_?"

Dread filled Mark as his strange eyes darted between each of his children and the Faerie. Lucas and Micaela had been placed between the door and the bed, and it was unlikely that he would be able to reach Fiorinor before the Hunter could slit Esmeralda's throat like a pig for the slaughter.

A mismatched, muddy brown and black glare pinned Mark in place as he struggled against the two warring instincts inside him; protect his children and eliminate the threat.

"If you are so keen on keeping _your_ blades, perhaps I should let her have a closer look at one of _mine_ ," Fiorinor offered, his voice falsely cordial as his free hand lifted from the folds of the coverlet and bared a second dagger that was a twin to the first. Mark felt himself start to shake as he saw both of them again and was forced to remember the times when those edges had cut into him, carving no small number of the scars across his body when he had first joined the Hunt.

In response to a whispered urging, Esmeralda's small hands lifted in wonderment and drifted across the flat of blade, exploring the surface curiously. The enchantment that Fiorinor had laid over her was strong enough that she did not cry out when she sliced her delicate fingers on the edge and blood welled up to run down her thin wrists.

"Stop, stop!" Mark cried in horror, dropping the kitchen knives. He knew all too well the perils of Fey enthrallment, and he didn't doubt for a moment that Fiorinor could keep his daughter passive even as she slashed herself to ribbons. How many Mortals had been ensnared during Faerie revels and been left to dance and twist and spin in rapture until their hearts simply gave out?

Fiorinor's broken front teeth gleamed dully as he leered in satisfaction. His body relaxed slightly and Esmeralda went back to quietly watching the pretty lights that only she could see, her hands dropping back into her lap to stain her nightgown red.

"You haven't changed a bit," the Faerie growled, taking in Mark's appearance now that the threat had passed. None of the Hunters, save for Kieran and Rayce, had gotten close enough to recognize Mark in the fight against the dragon. At least, he was _fairly_ sure that he had remained unseen...

"Neither have you," Mark answered bitterly.

"That's not true." Fiorinor lifted the dagger and his tongue flicked out to taste the fresh blood on it. "A lot has changed."

"Whatever you want from me is yours," he pleaded quietly. "Just leave the children out of it. I'll do whatever you want, go with you, anything."

The Hunter gave a low chuckle and shook his head. "But we've never had so many players in our little games before, and I don't want to have to share these precious creatures with any of the others if they manage to track you down, too."

Fear mixed with anxiety and Mark blinked, taken aback. "Others? What do you mean?" His words tumbled one over the other. "Gwyn forbade any of you from seeking me out when I was released."

"Gwyn's dead, and you know it," Fiorinor spat. "The Morgenstern boy was reclaimed from the Hunt; the cloak was destroyed. We've _all_ been enjoying a bit more... _freedom."_

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see the confusion on Lucas' face as his son tried to work out the missing pieces of the conversation. The children didn't know _anything_ about his past. Even they were taken in by Ophelia Moore's complex spell that prevented Mundanes from noticing that he wasn't ageing as he should be. Guilt tore through Mark. _We should have trained them, taught them to defend themselves. It was too much to hope that we could stay hidden from this world forever._

"If you were freed, why did you come _here_?" Mark demanded. His mind raced to grasp the implications of all of the Faerie Courts' most dangerous criminals suddenly loosed on the world. _Kieran._ His pounding heart seemed to skip a beat.

"It _was_ a challenge to find you," the Hunter answered thoughtfully as he idly scratched at the rough stubble across his jaw with the bloodied dagger. "But the Shadowhunters are already trying to track us down, and I plan on holing up somewhere with a bit of entertainment in hand. I'm going to enjoy every last scream you've got, boy. Just like old times."

Panic shot through him, but Mark forced it down and raised his hands. "Take me, then."

A wicked glimmer flickered in Fiorinor's eyes when he nodded once and slid sideways to disentangle himself from Esmeralda. He leaned in close to whisper to her and gave her the handle of the dagger that was already wet with her blood. She held it lovingly, cuddling it close to her face like a stuffed animal, and then sighed happily as she settled back into the pillows piled against her headboard. Her hands were gloved in blood and Mark felt sick when he looked at his daughter. _No healing runes can help her. I have to get him out of here quickly so that Lucas can call for help before it's too late._

Fiorinor gestured with his remaining weapon for Mark to lay face down on the floor. "Slowly," he threatened. "The little one is counting on your good behaviour."

Mark felt tears of frustration sting his eyes as he knelt down and lowered himself to the floor. Lucas thrashed his head back and forth in denial and Micaela cried harder into her gag.

 _I'm sorry_ , he mouthed to them.

The Hunter pulled Mark's wrists behind his back sharply and then the tough rope fibres bit into the pale, rune-scarred skin. Memories of all the nights he had spent at the mercy of the others crashed through Mark, all the times he had served as their plaything when Gwyn wasn't watching, a whipping boy for all of their pent-up anger and aggression. A creeping numbness began to shroud his mind as his old defense mechanisms were revived to shield him from the worst of what was to come. He felt himself shutting down again, felt the light that had burned brighter since Sera had come to awaken him start to fade away.

The bonds around his ankles was so tight that he knew he would soon lose the feeling in his feet, but he didn't care. All that mattered was giving Fiorinor what he wanted so that he would take Mark and leave. Any sacrifice was worth it to save his children. A loop of rope slipped over his head and snugged up against his neck, and he was helpless to resist as Fiorinor hauled it back and secured the other end to the bindings around his ankles, his back arching painfully to keep from strangling himself. _Just like old times,_ he agreed sourly.

One thing nagged at him, and he managed to rasp out, "How did you find me?"

Fiorinor crouched down in front of him and tapped the tip of his dagger on Mark's nose. "Just followed my nose." He cackled to himself for a moment and then lifted the Shadowhunter's chin, forcing Mark's back to bend even further. "Not you. Kieran. His scent is all over this place."

 _Kieran!_ Mark roared the name in his mind and briefly considered shouting it. The window was open... but Esmeralda was still cradling the Faerie's dagger. If Kieran was anywhere nearby, he would surely put an end to this nightmare.

"His horse is still sniffing around the neighbourhood, unseen, if I don't miss my guess," Fiorinor continued. "Doesn't know what to do with herself now, I'd guess. No one wondered what effect the Unbinding would have on the mounts, and she's got no place to go now that Kieran's dead."

 _Dead_. The word hit Mark like a punch to the gut. He choked as the rope around his neck cut off his breath when he lost focus and let his ankles fall back. He bucked automatically to try to breathe again, but he couldn't as a lump rose in his throat. _Dead._

Fiorinor saw the devastation strike Mark's face with the pronouncement, and he threw his head back to laugh. "You truly didn't know?" He asked incredulously. "Even a half-breed like you should have been able to smell him around here."

Grief tore through Mark and he suddenly understood why he had been thinking about his Unseelie prince so often recently. He _had_ been recognizing the scent, but he had been unable to process and understand what it had meant. His subconscious had been trying to show him.

"It's a shame, really, for you," the Faerie taunted. "Kieran never would have let me get this close. I suppose I should thank whoever got him out of the way."

 _Got him out of the way. Dead. Out of the way. Dead._ Whatever had happened between them all those years ago, he hadn't wanted Kieran dead. He panted for oxygen, wheezing past the cord around his neck as Fiorinor turned his bifurcated gaze back to the children.

"Now. Which one should I start with?"

Rage ripped through Mark, shattering the shell that had been hardening around his mind.

"You said you'd take me!" He gasped.

"But I _didn't_ say that I would leave them out of this," Fiorinor gloated. " _Really_ , Mark. I would have expected _you_ of all people to be more careful when making deals with the Fey."

When Mark opened his mouth to start yelling furiously, the Faerie jammed what tasted like two gym socks tied together between his captive's teeth and knotted them behind his head, stifling the cries. Undeterred by the slew of unintelligible swearing, Fiorinor rose from his crouch and sat back on the bed, patting his leg for Esmeralda to return to his lap.

"Which one?" He asked again as he brushed a few strands of hair away from the little girl's face tenderly and she smiled faintly inside the spell that held her enthralled. She presented the dagger to him and he took it back from her sticky hands with murmured thanks.

Lucas struggled frantically against his bonds and tried desperately to catch his father's eye, screaming into his gag for Mark to pick him, to spare the girls. Micaela strained and pulled, jostled by her brother's own efforts to get free. Mark twisted savagely and felt the rope burn across his neck and around his wrists as he fought against his bonds.

 _Idiot!_ He howled at himself for his own stupidity. Stupid to believe what a Faerie said without hearing what he didn't say. Stupid to think he could ever have a normal life. Stupid to have endangered his children like this.

"Choose, Mark," Fiorinor said more firmly, twisting his dirty fingers into Esmeralda's long black hair and tilting her head back while she stared blankly. "Who dies first?"

The whistle of a butterfly knife sailing over his head and thumping into the Faerie made Mark's heart soar even as he heard his wife's voice answer furiously, "You do, asshole."

Fiorinor's body went rigid for a moment as the blade went through his left eye, the black one, and lodged itself in his brain. Before he had even flopped backward onto the bed, Cristina leaped forward and snatched up her daughter. Esmeralda blinked as if waking up from a dream, her bloody hands leaving red smears across her mother's badge and dark police officer uniform.

"Mommy?" She sniffled, and then the throbbing, stinging pain from her fingers broke through the last wisps of the enchantment woven around her mind. She looked down and screamed when she saw her blood-soaked nightgown and stained hands. She screamed and screamed.

Cristina pressed Esmeralda to her chest and held her tightly, whispering to her in a mix of Spanish and English, trying to soothe her terror even as she scooped up a pair of t-shirts from the laundry basket to wrap around the girl's injured hands. Mark was maddened into a wild frenzy by his daughter's screams and he thrashed like a snared beast, not caring how much damage he was doing to his neck. Cristina juggled her youngest child to her hip just above her gun and pulled out a second knife to swiftly slice through the rope keeping him so cruelly bound, and then she cut him free entirely. He took the blade from her hand mechanically and carefully sawed at the cords around Lucas and Micaela. Both of them threw themselves at him once they were released and he hugged them fiercely.

"What the hell happened?" Cristina asked Mark over Esmeralda's head. "Who the hell was that?"

As quickly as he could, Mark told her about the Hunters coming Unbound with the cloak's destruction. He couldn't bring himself to tell her about Kieran, not after all of the pain from twenty years ago, but he told her that Fiorinor might not be the last.

"If he found me, the others can, too," Mark confessed desperately. "I have to leave, to get away from here before any of the others come."

"Do you really think that will stop them? It's not safe for _any_ of us here. We need to get somewhere secure." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Ophelia's?"

Mark shook his head. "We can't ask any more of her, and I don't know if she would be able to stop them. We need more help than she can give, and I know exactly who to ask." He gave her a significant look and waited for his idea to sink in.

" _No,_ " she hissed back.

"We _have_ to," he insisted. "They owe us."

"They _exiled_ you."

Mark thought about what he had seen of the Shadowhunters fighting against the dragons, of Alec and Jace working with Perfect Diego under cover provided by a pair of warlocks. Shadowhunters and Downworlders working together. He thought about Rayce, about the acceptance he had seen in the eyes of the fighters when the Lord of the Hunt had warned them about the third dragon and had taken Jace with him to fight it. The Clave had changed a lot over the last twenty years. Perhaps it would be better now.

"We have to try," Mark begged. "The kids will be safe there."

"Are you _crazy?_ They're _Mundanes._ "

"And Clave Law allows for it if they are in danger, which they are," he insisted. "They owe them their protection, and Idris will be better than here."

They stared each other down evenly, her serious brown eyes boring into the blue and gold of his Hunter's gaze, each one willing the other to back down.

"Um, mom? Dad?" Lucas broke in timidly, pulling back from his father slightly and running a hand through his spiky black hair. "What are you talking about? Mundanes? Clave? Idris? What are Hunters, and who's Gwyn? I don't understand."

Cristina's eyes were filled with a silent warning for her husband, but when her eyelashes finally flicked down, Mark knew that she had agreed. He looked down at his son and cleared his throat, wishing for an _iratze_ for the raw burns from the rope. This wasn't something he had ever prepared to do, and he barely knew where to begin.

"We have something to tell you..."


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

"If I may say, Consul, you look like you need to get some sleep," Diego Rosales commented via Projection in the Consul's office from his own desk in the Scholomance. "You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I push myself exactly as hard as I need to, Executor," Alec answered with a sigh as he tried to lean back in the unfamiliar chair, a poor substitute for the one that Rayce had smashed during his confrontation with Everett. He winced inwardly, remembering the broken pieces. It had been a gift from Magnus when he had taken office ten years ago. Maybe it was a metaphor for the changes that were coming. He had enjoyed a relatively comfortable term, recent events not withstanding, but if he succeeded in pushing through what he was dreaming of, he was in for a much rougher ride.

Or maybe it was just a goddamn chair.

Diego gave him a sceptical look, despite his missing eye, and nodded, unconvinced. "As you say."

"What have you got on the missing Hunters?" Alec asked to change the subject. The plastic sheeting that covered the smashed glass doors leading to the balcony snapped taunt and then went slack again in the wind, rippling the clouded darkness outside for a moment.

"Still nothing, Consul. A few leads that went nowhere and a whole lot of silence in places where it should be noisy. It's a bit frustrating, really." Shadows danced across the sharp planes of Diego's face from the witchlight on his desk as he frowned for a moment and then let a faint smile lift the corner of his mouth. "But I was quite fortunate when I asked for a volunteer to lead the team; I don't believe the Scholomance has ever had such a die-hard detective in its ranks, either now or back in the 1800s. And he has such a personal connection to-"

The office door opened and Alec looked away from Diego's projection to find Cinder paused on the threshold as she tried to decide if she was going to get in trouble or not for interrupting them. He waved her in and nodded back at the Centurion commander.

"I know. Keep me updated. I want to hear about anything you find the minute you have something."

"Understood, Consul." Diego's Projection flickered and then went out as he ended the communication, cutting off the view of the rough, dark stone wall behind him. Even after nearly a quarter of a century of being operational once more, the Scholomance remained a very grim and dark castle.

Situated high in the Carpathian Mountains, it was a forbidding place to outsiders. Jace had referred to it as Castle Dracula on more than one occasion during the semesters when he was trapped behind its high walls and got caught up dramatically pretending that he was Jonathan Harker. He had written fire messages in Bram Stoker's style like, " _30 June,_ _morning_ _— These may be the last words I ever write in this diary. I slept till just before the dawn, and when I woke threw myself on my knees, for I determined that if leg day with the first-years came, it should find me defiant til the last."_

Alec was pretty sure all of that had stopped after some sort of incident involving Diego, but his parabatai flatly refused to elaborate on the subject and had had to find new ways to amuse himself until the next time he managed to push the Headmaster too far and be sent on another sabbatical.

Still hesitating in the doorway of the Consul's office, Cinder smiled awkwardly and unconsciously scratched at the bandages that covered the claw marks from the fight on Wrangel Island that ran from her right ear all the way down to her collarbone. The wounds were mending slowly; whatever type of poison those demons had had on their claws was proving to be a challenge for the Silent Brothers. Once healed, the new scars would seem oddly complimentary to the three old slashes that marred her left cheek.

"Sorry, I'm still not really sure how this works now."

"Don't apologize, Inquisitor Whitescar." Alec winked and motioned for her to come in. She had foregone the dressier clothing that usually came with working in the Gard and stuck with her favourite leather pants and tough gear jacket. She had at least conceded to polish her black boots for the occasion, though, so Alec took that as a start.

"Ugh, do you _have_ to say it like that?" She gave him a pained look and then dropped her eyes to small stack of reports in her hands. "I still can't believe they actually voted me into this – I was born the year before the Dark War. Half of them probably still think I should be playing with dolls."

Alec snorted. "I don't think any of them would ever think that, and if they did, I doubt they'd ever have the nerve to say it to your face. Besides," he added, trying to lean back again and then making a mental note to accidentally swap chairs with someone else later, "I was only a few years older than you are now when they made me Consul. Judge yourself by Nephilim standards; at 27, you're practically over the hill."

"I guess I should start looking at retirement homes," she snickered, relaxing a bit.

"Not before I do," he threatened. He remembered what it had felt like to think that he was too young to have so much responsibility, to have people he would have jumped to obey the day before his first election suddenly asking him for his recommendations. Not that they had _listened_ to those recommendations in the beginning... but still. He felt honour-bound to protect Cinder from her own self-doubt during the early stages of her service as the newly-elected Inquisitor. "What brings you to my door?"

"I thought you might want to take a look at this," she said seriously, handing him the top page off her stack. He took it from her curiously and skimmed the quick report from... _the New York Institute_. His eyebrows drew together as he read.

 _Routine patrol near Central Park reported contact with two pack-aligned werewolves in the area who had smelled something 'terrible' coming from within the boundaries of the old Faerie territory._

 _Wary of possible demonic presence, responding unit investigated the edges of the cursed area and agreed with their findings. Requesting Centurion support to further explore the zone. Patrols will continue to monitor the surrounding area, vampire clans and werewolf packs alerted._

 _-New York Institute_

If he had been Jace, Alec probably would have at least crumpled the report at least a tiny bit in frustration, but he commanded his hands to resist the urge.

 _This is exactly what the problem is,_ he reminded himself again.

Following the signing of the Cold Peace, the Fey had been forced to abandon nearly all of their territories, but Jia Penhallow had learned a few unpleasant lessons about dealing with Faeries after the terms had been sent to the Courts. The Faeries _had_ left... but not before laying down powerful curses on most of their old territories to prevent any of the other Downworlders or the Nephilim from seizing control of them. Mundanes were unaffected by the magic, likely because the Seelie Queen had understood _exactly_ how far she could push her limits without inciting outright war, but the fact remained that no one from the Shadow World had yet managed to spend any decent amount of time in the cursed territories without suffering unpleasant consequences.

With the injunction against anyone dealing with the Fey except through the proper channels with the Scholomance, it had become exponentially more complicated to assess threats that were entangled with the Fair Folk. The Cold Peace _had_ to be repealed for the Clave to ever move forward and bury old grievances.

"Did you know that you have a muscle in your jaw that twitches when you're annoyed?" Cinder asked playfully, bringing him back to the present once more.

"You'll get one, too, I promise," he answered dryly. "Now tell me what I'm looking at."

"Trouble." She handed over the rest of the stack that she had been carrying.

Alec fanned the pages and saw at least two dozen different styles of handwriting in four languages, and even just a quick skim was enough to see that they were all reporting similar phenomena.

"I took the liberty of digging through the international reports that have been coming in over the last week or so when the New York one caught my eye," Cinder explained, watching for his reaction. "They don't all specifically state that the… whatever spots… are in old Faerie territories, but I cross-checked the areas with some maps from before the War and it all matches up. Twenty-six pockets so far of something happening, all behind the cursed borders of Fey lands in the Mundane world."

Alec lifted his eyes from the pages in his hands and just stared at her with his lips slightly parted, at a loss for words. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny and a faint blush rose in her cheeks as she looked away.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," she admitted quietly. "I got an office and a title, but I didn't get a job description or anything, so I just sort of…" She waved her hands at the reports vaguely and then shrugged apologetically. "Scholomance training."

"You know what?"

"What?"

"We might actually have to give the Clave some points for voting you in. Maybe they aren't a lost cause after all. This is extraordinary. You _do_ realize that you're kind of good at this, right?"

Cinder flashed him a wide smile, her uncertainty banished by his praise. "Must be my _inquisitive_ mind."

Alec laughed out loud and covered his face with one hand while shaking his head. "Brutal."

"Should I just go for broke and give you the whole thing?"

"Lay it on me," he answered gamely.

"I'm worried that it has something to do with what happened on Wrangel Island," she said seriously. "I don't know, like, if the magic is… backfiring, or something? Or," she dropped her voice and peered through the plastic sheets behind him as if checking for spies, "if this is the first sign of some kind of attack." She saw Alec's eyes darken with concern and she tilted her head sideways to finish, "Fool me once…"

"I hear you," he agreed, already following her line of reasoning to see if it might lead to the missing Hunters. It was too much of a coincidence that the disturbances were happening in Fey territory. He started making a mental list of the people he would need to contact, starting with Helen and Aline on Wrangel Island to see if they could find any damage on their end. Once he had them on the case, he would need to get Diego back on the line and dispatch Centurions to delve deeper into the places that had been affected. After that, a general missive to the Institute Heads to... a dull ache started to form in his temples. Sleep was going to have to wait.

He flicked the Projector back on and twisted the old brass dials to zero in on the old, beat-up, portable unit he had sent back to Wrangel Island with Helen and Aline when they had left with their tiny team. Brother Josiah and Brother Ishmael had joined them from the Silent City, and Oscar Bell had volunteered to go from the Spiral Labyrinth. There had been a great deal of interest in the assignment when it had gone to the council, but Aline had flatly refused to take anyone else unless someone was going to volunteer to foot the bill for an addition on the cabin.

The Silent Brothers, in particular, had seemed elated to hear the news that the world's wards had been mended and there was a very real possibility that the peaceful end to the Shadowhunters' millennium-long war might finally be at hand. The original ideal upon which their order had been founded had seemed like an impossible dream for centuries, and learning that hope for it had been rekindled in the wake of what Seraphine had done had set the City of Bones abuzz with activity.

The Projector hummed to life as the live connection was accepted on the other end, then two flickering silhouettes appeared and resolved into Helen and Aline, apparently in their pajamas and sipping their morning coffee with the time difference.

"What's up, Consul?" Aline greeted him, speaking around a mouthful of croissant. Helen looked fleetingly horrified and set down her mug in a hurry.

Alec let it slide and motioned for Cinder to come around the back of his chair so that they could see her, too. "We might have a problem, and I'm hoping you can tell us that we're jumping at shadows."

Aline swallowed and then rolled her eyes. "We're Shadowhunters, wouldn't that be bad for business?"

"Please continue, Consul," Helen cut in. "We will try to assist you in any way we can."

It didn't take long to share Cinder's findings with the two women, and both of them looked stumped when he finished explaining the concerns about possible backlash from the wards.

"I mean, it doesn't make _sense_ ," Aline protested. "They just don't _work_ like that." She drained what was left of her coffee and then wrapped her hands around the mug for the last of the fading warmth.

Helen looked doubtful as well, but her blue-green eyes were thoughtful as she mulled over the problem. "It would be difficult to say right away, Consul. The ley magic that fuels the world's wards is vast and complex, and there's certainly no precedent for anything like what happened here with Seraphine, Rayce, and Sera. We've really only just scratched the surface of seeing how the system works now that it might not be suffering the slow leak caused by the demonic ellipse."

"Might not be?" Cinder prompted.

"It's going to take time to verify that everything was sealed up properly, and then from there, to determine how that affects the ley line network as a whole. It's further complicated by the sudden drought of power caused by the attack on Alicante..." Helen trailed off and then shrugged, at a loss to explain how much they didn't know yet.

"What's she's saying," Aline added while helping herself to a second croissant, "is that we've still got a lot of work to do up here, but we'll see what we can find out. Considering that all of us have to learn this stuff second-hand, I think we're doing a pretty awesome job. Hey!" Aline snapped at someone out of the frame. "Do _not_ touch that!" She shot a ferocious look at either Oscar or one of the Brothers and then reluctantly turned her eyes back to Alec. "Just send us the coordinates that are coming up as suspicious and we'll check our end to see if there's a pattern of damage up here, okay? If not, then the problem's on your end." She jumped up from her chair and leaped out of view.

"Fair enough." Alec said goodbye to Helen before he had to potentially witness the murder of one of their house-guests, then clicked off the Projector with a sigh.

His eyes strayed down to the neat piles of work on his desk, including the meticulously-written documents that he was due to present to the Council tomorrow. Some of them were only half-finished, and they still needed hours more work before they could be ready. He briefly wondered if he would be removed from office on the spot when he brought the motion forward, and who would have had the shorter term in office between himself and Everett. _Although, he wasn't really elected, so would he still count...?_

"You know," Cinder interrupted his fretting, tapping her lips pensively, "something she said made me think."

"About?"

"She complained that they have to learn everything second-hand and teach themselves whatever they can. Wouldn't their job get a lot easier if they could get some help from the Fey? Like, someone who understands all that stuff?"

He laced his fingers behind his neck and cracked it once on each side. _Too soon._ "Don't think that it hasn't crossed my mind."

"I don't suppose you know any friendly Faeries?" She sniggered at the absurdity of the idea, but Alec stayed quiet.

Cassius' face flashed in his mind, and all of the frustration of trying to get straight answers from the cagey Faerie during their last meeting in Brocelind Forest still grated on him. He wasn't entirely certain what the Seelie's knowledge of magic might include, but he was hesitant to open that line of communication again. He was already toeing a very grey line by speaking to Cassius, and certainly by concealing the Faerie's temporary residency in the Forest from the Council. _Still... it might be worth the risk._

"That would be a challenge, with the Treaty," he answered, his distaste for outright lying forcing him to get a bit creative. "The Cold Peace drives me nuts sometimes."

She looked at him shrewdly and arched an eyebrow. "Have you ever thought about getting rid of it?"

 _Maybe she's_ too _good._ _But she could be a strong ally if she's sympathetic..._

Alec looked down and prayed that his instincts were right about this. "Every day," he admitted quietly.

Cinder exhaled. "You're going to do it," she whispered wonderingly.

"I'm going to _try_ to do it," he corrected.

He felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he confided in her. He had known for years that Inquisitor Everdale would never have supported his plans, so he had stayed quiet. He had only really been able to share his dreams with Magnus in the slow hours of the night when they were alone in bed and no one was listening. He hadn't even told their sons his whole plan, worried about getting their hopes up and then not being able to deliver. He knew Jace would support him when the time came, but he hadn't wanted even a whisper of it escaping before he was ready. Dissolving the Cold Peace was just the first step.

The new Inquisitor seemed to be able to read every tell in his expression, and a slow smile crept up the scarred side of her face as she lifted a finger to her lips to show that she would keep his secret.

"If there's anything I can do to help you, Consul..." she offered.

What he really needed was more _time_. If he didn't make his case to the Council perfectly, they would seize on anything to start tearing holes in the idea. Twenty years just wasn't long enough for some of the old hatreds to die down, and beyond that... well, he was going to be trying to shift a thousand years of prejudice.

But balanced against needing more time was the need to strike _now,_ while he still had the foundation for what he wanted to build laid open by the Unseelie attack. The restoration efforts for the city were already getting underway as families returned to homes that had been abandoned in the fires of that terrible night.

What he needed was some sort of indication from the Seelie Court that they would be willing to take the first steps with him, work with him to right the wrongs of the past.

What he needed was... His blue eyes lit up and he let himself laugh. Cinder looked confused as he gave her his most dazzling smile.

"What kind of chair did your office come with?"

"Stupid, inconsiderate Faerie," Jace grumbled under his breath as he shoved his way through another tangled mess of undergrowth in Brocelind Forest. Thin branches whipped at him as he pushed deeper into the thicket, and it felt like rather a lot of them were of the thorny variety. He sucked in a breath as one spiky shoot lashed across his cheek, drawing blood. He snarled. "No! _Not_ the face!"

Alec had asked him to go tramping back out into the woods to try to track down Cassius again, and Jace was kind of wishing that he had told his parabatai to go looking for the Faerie himself this time. But he had seen the dark circles under his brother's eyes and decided that this wasn't the time to play; whatever he was working on was already putting a big strain on him, and he was dealing with it alone now that Magnus had gone with Seraphine.

 _He should be dealing with it with me,_ Jace thought to himself as he savagely slashed downward at a particularly stubborn knot of vegetation. He was worried about Alec, but the last forty years had taught him that his best friend would talk to him when he was ready, and not a minute sooner. The best thing to do until then was to keep doing whatever small things he could to take some of the pressure off the idiot.

"Okay, but this is quickly becoming a _not_ small thing," he hissed into the darkness as he knelt down to check the trail again. It would have been easier to Portal out to at least the edge of the woods, but Alec had insisted that he leave no trace of the visit, lest any more wannabe-Everetts track his movements again with the map.

He studied the ground intently. The same bare foot prints padded through the Forest with ease, seemingly unaffected by the hindering growth and obstacles. "Unbelievable," he swore.

"I agree," Cassius' voice called from above him. "It is difficult to believe that you followed that trail so far without thinking to look up. You should consider yourself fortunate that it was not a Faerie with ill-intent leading you around for the past two hours."

Jace swivelled around and jabbed an accusatory finger in the general direction of the voice. "You. Get down here. I'm gonna show you some ill-intent right in the-" He felt the faintest breath on the back of his neck and then the voice was right in his ear.

"Yes?"

The Shadowhunter lurched forward, reeling away from the teleporting Faerie. "Don't do that," he gasped, tempted to clutch his chest for a moment until he came to his senses.

"Do what?" Cassius taunted from behind him once more.

Jace whirled again and glared at him furiously. "Remind me again why Zeke hasn't killed you yet?"

Cassius smiled broadly, his even, white teeth gleaming in the moonlight where it penetrated the canopy. "Because he loves me."

"Well, I don't," Jace huffed. "Is there any particular reason you've been leading me around by the nose, or are you just choosing to use your immortal lifespan wisely?"

The Faerie feigned surprise. "Do you not enjoy wild goose chases, Jace Herondale?"

"No," he answered through clenched teeth. "I don't like geese, or ducks, or any water fowl in particular. And I would appreciate it if we could just _not_ play this game the next time that Alec wants to speak with you."

"Then I shall have to devise another."

Jace briefly wondered how much trouble he be in if he brought Cassius back to Alec in slightly less than mint-condition. Then he caught sight of the coiled _torahk-na_ slung low on the Faerie's hips and decided to reconsider. From what he had read about those weapons, you had to be _good_ to use them, and he was in no mood to receive a first-hand demonstration of the requisite skill level.

"Look, can you just see what he wants? You're a real pain in the ass to find."

"I am very easy to find if you know where to look," Cassius responded lightly, much to Jace's chagrin.

"Yeah," he snorted, " _everything_ is easy to find if you know where to look. Stop trying to pull the mysterious-Faerie crap. I'm tired and I really just want to go back to my tiny borrowed bedroom and brood about why my parabatai doesn't want to talk about whatever's troubling him, okay?"

Cassius cocked his head to one side. "Very well." He disappeared.

"Oh, that's just _great!_ " Jace yelled in frustration, turning slowly to survey the now-empty Forest around him. "You could have at least given me a lift _back!_ "

"You said you didn't want to play games the _next_ time the Consul wanted to speak with me," the Faerie sang playfully, unseen. "I see no reason not to finish the one we had already started."

With no way of telling whether Cassius was still lurking around in the canopy or if he had teleported away, Jace decided to err on the side of caution and let out a raging torrent of the most insulting Faerie slurs he knew, inventing a few in the process, and waited for a response. Only the silence of the Forest followed.

He directed a sharp kick at the nearest tree trunk and then swore. It would take him hours to get back to the city, and he probably wouldn't make it until after sunrise. _Honestly, it would be closer to go to..._ Jace grinned to himself, his mind made up. _Yep._ He comforted himself with happy thoughts of pay-back as he shuffled back the way he had come.

It was still going to be a long walk.

With a limp.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Arynessa felt a shiver go down her back as Kaelie drew a brush through her long, violet tresses. She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself enjoy the simple pleasure, pushing away all of the things that were weighing on her mind. Too many things were happening for her to deal with all at once.

Candles burned dimly around the bedroom and illuminated a few humble decorations that had been carefully arranged to great effect. The room was quiet and peaceful in the long hours that stretched before dawn in the Mundane world above, and many of the Faerie courtiers who had returned from the Rift with Arynessa were likely asleep.

 _Or plotting_ , she thought uncharitably as another brush stroke passed through the soft waves cascading down her back. She wasn't sure if the years she had spent cloistered away with Rayce had faded the memories she had of her mother's Court, or if she had simply never realized just how well her mother had kept the Fey in line during her rule. True, Sammaradriel had had centuries to cement her authority, while Arynessa had barely had weeks, but it still grated on her. She dreamed of what it would be like to hold Court without wondering which of her supporters were hiding fangs behind their frozen smiles.

"Will Lord Solarius be joining you tonight, my Lady?" Kaelie asked her hesitantly as she gently worked a small knot out of the bottom of one of her mistress' locks.

Arynessa felt a flash of irritation at the reminder of her lover's absence. "No." She rose from the bed. "That will be all, Kaelie, you may retire, as we discussed."

The handmaiden's eyes filled with fear. "Please, my Lady..."

"Go." The Seelie Queen answered firmly, pointing at the door with an expression that brooked no further argument. She watched dispassionately as Kaelie slipped out the door, fumbling within the folds of her dress as she did so.

Arynessa sat down on the small, cushioned bench in front of a vanity mirror and glared at her reflection in the glass.

Solarius had left earlier that afternoon for the Rift after receiving word from his spellcasters that the energy levels were unexpectedly rising within the cavern. Ostensibly, he had gone to oversee the restructuring of the power lines that were keeping the Rift relatively stable during its convalescence. His most gifted spell-weavers had dedicated themselves to maintaining the balance in the aftermath of the Unseelie King's foolish attack with moderate success, managing to almost completely stave off the worst of the earthquakes that had rocked the cavern directly following the surge.

The Rift was still experiencing "brownout" periods as it struggled to stay open, but Solarius had seemed optimistic about its long-term prognosis. He had assured her that it would be back to full functionality in good time. That should have given her cause for celebration, but it had only further soured her reaction to Sol's sudden departure. She more than suspected that he had... _other_... motivating factors contributing to his sudden withdrawal.

She sniffed and turned away from her reflection as her line of thought drew her back toward thinking about family. It had been decades, but sometimes she couldn't help but see Nerissa's face in the mirror. She pushed memories of her sister away and allowed them to be replaced by thoughts about her brother.

With a small smile, she let herself wonder how Rayce was taking the news that he was going to be a father. _Better than Sol is, with any luck._ Her smile became a grimace. The Rift Lord had kept his face carefully neutral when Arynessa had told him that she was pregnant with their child that morning. Then he had received the message from his people and taken his leave. To his credit, he had tried to convince her to go with him, given her suspicions about the Hunt, but she had flatly refused.

When Kaelie had returned from Rayce's wedding with confirmation that he had been freed from the cloak's hold over him as the Lord of the Hunt, Arynessa had decided to risk summoning the new commander...

... and no one had come.

The magic of the cloak compelled its bearer to obey the summons of the Courts with all possible haste; it had always been so. She had surmised that one of two possible things had transpired. Either her brother had gone on a murderous rampage and destroyed the Hunt down to the last Faerie before allowing Sera to free him, or something had happened to the cloak. She knew which outcome was more likely, though she didn't like what it might mean for her, personally.

Arynessa sighed as she pushed away from the mirror and began dousing the candles for the night. She had tasked Rayce with keeping Baelerithon in check in exchange for Ezekiel's extended youth, and it now seemed as though their traitorous brother was no longer under the Shadowhunter's control. What remained to be seen was where Bael _had_ ended up. She didn't doubt for a moment that he would be coming for her.

Her fingers wavered over one of the flames as she let herself contemplate revoking Zeke's vitality in accordance with their agreement. It would be so easy to cut the cord of magic that kept him strong and healthy, to shear away the cocoon that protected him from the ravages of time. Her purple eyes seemed to dance in the hypnotic light of the candle as she dwelled on the notion.

 _Make certain that there's still a part of you that's worth saving,_ she heard herself warn Rayce. She blew out the candle and watched the wisp of smoke dissipate like the thoughts she had been having. That was not who she wanted to be; not now, not ever again.

She pulled back the covers of the narrow bed and slipped underneath, leaving the Seelie crown on the bedside table. If she could be honest with herself, it wasn't Rayce or Zeke bothering her. It was Sol and his reaction, or lack thereof, to her news.

Arynessa turned on her side, trying to find a comfortable position. Perhaps this was the side of her mother that she had never understood before taking the throne herself. She had always viewed her mother's string of lovers as childish, whims indulged without any sense of propriety or consideration of the consequences. But looking at it from this side... maybe she had taken throwaway consorts to avoid the heartache. What male could ever content himself with sitting below the Seelie Queen? Sol had begun courting her years ago when she was still only one of many heirs, a fine match, but certainly not a threat to his position as Rift Lord.

She refused to shed a tear in the near-darkness of the bedroom. She had a Court to reforge after the Unseelie's failed invasion, a people to lead, and a future to secure if she wanted to leave anything for her child. Solarius could make his own decisions.

With or without her.

"Well, I must say, Baelerithon was right," Vindictus conceded to his companion. "It _is_ much easier to get to the prisons than to the centre of the Seelie Court."

A double-row of earthen cells stretched down the low-ceilinged tunnel before them. Thick, reinforced roots descended from above to plunge into the ground and serve in place of iron bars, their lengths twined with thorny creepers tipped in poison. Flickering orange light spilled from the unadorned wall sconces.

"I would not have minded a bit more of a challenge," Tamarind said with a lazy grin as he wiped away the prison warden's blood on his short sword before sheathing it. The powerfully-build Faerie had been the captain of Vindictus' household guard before the Lord's fall from grace, and he had been more than eager to renew his service when presented with the opportunity. His coppery-hued skin was heavily tattooed with swirling, curving lines that gave him a primal look that inspired fear in his enemies. Standing nearly six and a half feet tall and proudly bearing a long mane of black hair, Tamarind was a glorious warrior who had been born in another era and longed only for those days to return. He would have made an excellent Hunter if he had ever managed to get himself condemned.

"However, unfortunately, we must do more with less. We would have been better off if Iarlath could have scraped up another dozen or so suitable candidates, but finding the right combination of gifts..." he trailed off and sighed. "I suppose beggars can't be choosers, as the humans say."

Tamarind shook his head. "Not beggars. Not after today." He tapped the strange bracers strapped to his forearms and nodded at the identical set that Vindictus wore. "Not if these work."

"The King knows his enemy and his battlefield well this time, Tamarind." Vindictus smiled wickedly. "Come, we have a princess to rescue!" The pair of Unseelie laughed at the joke as they hunted down the row of cells in search of one in particular.

Interested faces peered out between thorn-encrusted bars as they passed, and whispers followed them down the corridor. The ceiling sloped down gradually, forcing Tamarind to duck, and soon after even Vindictus had to dip his head to continue.

They found their quarry within a four-foot high cell that had only been shallowly dug into the earth behind the woven cage of roots. The unforgiving design ensured that its occupant would be unable to stand up straight or lie down fully. Within, a Seelie female in tight-fitting fighting leathers rolled up to her knees from where she had been laying on her back with her legs drawn up. The pale-green tangle of her hair was filthy. Her yellow-gold eyes flashed with a feral cast in the orange light.

"Unseelie visitors? How wonderful," she said sarcastically. "I'm done with your kind."

Vindictus looked sideways at Tamarind and lifted his eyebrows. "Did you hear that, my friend? She's done with our kind. I suppose she wants to stay here."

"A shame, that," the huge Faerie agreed with an aggrieved sigh, "after her brother went to all the trouble of sending us here."

"I don't want to talk about Rayce!" she snapped. Failing to capture Rayce was what had landed her in this cell when she had reported back to Malchezed, and her sister had seen no reason to release her when she had taken the throne.

"Not _that_ brother," Vindictus clucked.

"I have many brothers and little patience, Unsee-" She froze when she caught sight of the mismatched pale blue and black eyes of the Hunter.

"Now you've got her attention," Tamarind smirked.

Vindictus nodded knowingly and pulled a twin set of enchanted batons from behind his belt. He tossed them down in front of the cell. "Shall we discuss a simple exchange of services, Kylea?"

"Do these passages get any smaller?" Tamarind stifled a grunt as he accidentally dislodged a piece of the tunnel that the three of them were creeping through less than an hour later.

"Perhaps a bit, yes," Kylea answered smugly from her position in the lead. "Now shut up, we're getting close."

The Seelie traitor and her two unlikely rescuers were working their way through the network of secret passages that honeycombed the heart of the Seelie Court and were known only to the royal family. She had already guided the handful of others who had been conscripted into service to their carefully-selected locations, prearranged by Baelerithon when he had planned the raid. All that remained was to get Vindictus and Tamarind to the Seelie Queen's personal apartments.

Only the dull orange glow from Kylea's beloved batons lit the trio's way forward as they squeezed through another series of tight twists and turns. The hidden entrances and exits to the extensive system could only be opened by a Seelie of Sammaradriel's bloodline, and Baelerithon had taken the calculated risk that his half-sister would be willing to trade her access to the tunnels in exchange for her freedom. He had not been wrong.

While he had been laying out the pieces of his plan, Bael had briefly considered leading the raid himself; he had no doubt that he could overpower his sister with his new-found abilities, but he had a nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that his transformation may have been even more successful that he may have originally thought. He had wondered if the passages would even recognize his blood now. He had felt strange and exhilarating changes in his body since sacrificing Caelus over the font of ley magic, and he wanted to maintain a level of caution while he experimented. Better to use Kylea until he could be certain of what he was becoming.

"Here," Kylea breathed, pointing to the nearly invisible seam of a doorway in the wall. "The Queen's emergency exit." She held her hand out to Vindictus impatiently until he unsheathed a blade from his side and allowed her to nick her finger on its edge. "The rest is on you."

The disgraced Seelie princess pressed her bloody finger to the door and it shuddered faintly in response, silently releasing hidden catches as it recognized her as a daughter of Sammaradriel. She stepped aside so that the two males could slip into the Queen's apartments.

A soft, muted white glow glimmered from the beautifully-shaped sconces on the walls, their light dimmed to almost nothing as the Queen slept, unaware. Long, lilac-hued hair spilled across the silken pillows of the bed. Tamarind exchanged a triumphant look with Vindictus.

The Hunter stalked forward silently, carefully. Without the crown, the girl was nothing, and Baelerithon had promised rich rewards to them if she could be brought back alive. The protection he had loaned them from the Unseelie vaults was more than enough to nullify her gift with fire, and as long as she didn't have time to take up the Seelie crown and amplify her abilities, they didn't have anything to worry about.

He cast a quick glance around the luxurious suite in search of any telltale sparkle that might give away the crown's location, but nothing was evident. Bringing it back to hand over to the King would be the final piece of irony, as he fully intended to destroy it as soon as it was within his grasp.

Tamarind took up a position near the doors, prepared to intercept the royal guards, and he nodded to Vindictus that he was ready.

The Unseelie Lord sent the whisper of command out to the few who had come with him, signalling for them to start their work. _It won't be long now._

He reached down slowly with his chipped and cracked white-enamelled gauntlet. When his hand hovered just over the Queen's head, he swiftly seized a handful of her hair and twisted his arm up and back, jerking her out of bed. She cried out in pain and the doors to her apartment slammed open a moment later, quickly followed by twin grunts as Tamarind slammed his pair of short swords through their throats.

"Too easy," the savage Faerie complained as he lowered his arms and the Seelie slid off, gurgling unintelligibly. Behind him, the sound of explosions ripped through the corridors in response to the Hunter's cue to begin the destruction of the Seelie Court.

"No!" The Queen writhed in Vindictus' grasp. "Please!"

He drew her face level with his own and looked her over. "Never figured you to be one that would beg," he sneered. "Save it for your brother."

Arynessa paled and clawed at his arm, but he only tightened his fist until she gasped. Reverberations from blasts deeper in the Court rattled a delicate music box right off the dresser and sent it smashing to the floor.

 _She should have tried to roast me by now,_ he thought to himself, growing uneasy.

"Where's the crown?" He asked roughly, shaking her for emphasis.

"I don't have it!" Terror welled up in her eyes and tears streaked down her face as her mouth fell open in fear. She tugged at his arm again futilely. "Please, it's not me!"

The hidden door to the escape passages cracked open again and Kylea stuck her head through. "Let's go, fuck boys! Whatever your Unseelie did is going to bring this whole place down on top of us if we don't get out of here now!"

Frustrated, Vindictus whirled around, dragging the Queen, and thrust her toward the secret door. "Is this your sister, or not?" Something wasn't right.

Arynessa was shaking hard as she levered herself up to her elbows and turned her violet eyes on the Seelie traitor. "Kylea..." she pleaded. She lifted one trembling hand to the other and took hold of a silver ring with an amethyst stone, pulling it off her finger with a sob.

Purple eyes changed to a pupil-less blue, and green-tinged blond hair rippled in place of the lilac cascade that had been there a moment before.

"Congratu-fucking-lations," Kylea swore. "You captured a goddamn handmaiden."

Kaelie Whitewillow knelt in place of her Queen, crying into her palms. "I didn't want... it was a _punishment!"_

Tamarind sprang forward and caught her by the front of her nightgown, effortlessly lifting her up and pinning her against the wall next to where Kylea was still holding the passage open.

"It's _going_ to be a punishment if you don't tell us where to find her," he growled menacingly.

Overwhelmed by the ferocious Faerie, Kaelie's eyes fluttered and her head lolled sideways as she fainted in fear. Tamarind dropped her in disgust.

"Great job, idiot," the princess chided him as another rumble rolled through the corridors. "We're out of time."

"Your brother said you had a gift for tracking," Vindictus snarled back at her, "so _find_ your sister!"

"Oh, for the love of-" Kylea rolled her eyes and heaved the door open for them. "Bael had better give me a nice big cut of whatever he promised you two losers."

The passage sealed itself behind them seamlessly just as the first showers of earth shook free from the ceiling and covered the expensive elegance of the royal apartments in a prelude of what was to come.

A deep, booming blast jolted Arynessa awake and she rolled out of Kaelie's narrow bed to hit the floor in a low crouch, edging toward the door cautiously even as she swiped the Seelie crown from the bedside table.

She opened the door a crack and gasped in surprise when she saw the thick, dark smoke roiling across the ceiling toward her. The smell of burning assaulted her nose and she darted out into the tunnel in dismay. The ground shuddered beneath her feet and she lurched sideways to brace her hand against the wall. _What's happening?_

She hitched up the hem of her nightgown and tore away the bottom half so that she would be free to run, tying it over her mouth and nose instead. Whatever she had been expecting from Bael, it hadn't been this. She broke into a jog, heading for the heart of the Seelie Court. _He has no idea who he's up against,_ she fumed, _but he's about to._ The Seelie crown settled into place and she narrowed her eyes.

The first few corridors she ran through were deserted, which was to be expected; many of those who had returned with her were in the more central area of the Courts. Kaelie had made her home in the servant's tunnels, which was just one of the many reasons that Arynessa had switched places with her inherited handmaiden. The girl had been disloyal to the old Queen by working with Sera to free Rayce from the Court, and Arynessa had used her as a decoy as recompense. But she had never imagined that it would come to this...

Arynessa flew around a bend and promptly skidded to a halt.

The entire tunnel was collapsed ahead, and nothing but an even slope of earth remained.

 _No._

She backtracked to take an alternative route, trying to follow the flow of the increasingly thick smoke back toward its source, but it was building up, making it more difficult to determine where it was coming from. Coughing into the crook of her elbow, she squinted and plunged ahead until the air cleared a bit and she found herself in one of the hot spring caverns that pocketed this area.

The sound of running feet came from one of the many paths that led away from the main cave, and she slowed down as shadows formed in the haze. A pair of male Faeries came pounding down the hall behind a female with very familiar weapons.

"Kylea," Arynessa hissed in fury. She gathered up her anger and channelled it into the fire that was her birthright, then sent it lancing out in a blazing spear of heat that ripped down the tunnel and right into the approaching trio.

Her half-sister didn't even get a chance to scream as the scorching inferno shot through her; she simply flaked away into ash. But behind her, the blast shattered apart when it hit the two males, ricocheting wildly all over the cavern and into the bubbling waters, sending up jets of steam where it flash-boiled the pools.

The Seelie Queen threw up her hand to shield her eyes from the brightness of her attack and staggered back. When she was able to look again, both of the unknown Faeries had started to move away from each other, circling closer to her, presenting two separate targets if she wanted to send a second strike.

She held her ground, refusing to run despite the confusing result of her first attack. Drawing down power from the crown once more, she sent twin bursts of fire hurling from either hand toward the strangers, the ribbons narrower than before, but still strong.

Both males crossed their forearms in front of their chests to block the volleys, and her magic shattered again, this time sending twice as many jagged bolts careening around the cavern. One sliced backward at her and singed her torn nightgown before she could slap out the tiny flame.

"Careful now, _your Highness_ ," the fair-haired one mocked, "we wouldn't want you to miss what your brother has planned for you."

 _Baelerithon._ Somehow he had found allies to attack the Seelie Court itself. _But how?_ She shook off the mystery of her brother's rebound from exile and kept a wary eye on the pair of invaders. _He knew to protect them against fire._

The cavern shook ominously all around them as another tremor rocked the Seelie Court. It sounded like the whole place was caving in.

On her right, the bigger Faerie was drawing nearer, the dark lines of his swirling tattoos standing out against his coppery skin. She vaguely recognized him as one of the many warriors who had tried their hands against Rayce in her mother's tournaments and lost. Narrowly. Arynessa grudgingly backed away, moving back down the tunnel she had come from.

"If you think my brother will keep whatever bargain he's made with you, you should seriously reconsider how he got himself sent to the Hunt in the first place," she warned, stalling for time to put some distance between herself and them as the kernel of an idea started to take shape.

"Well I can hardly judge him for his actions," the one on the left leered. The azure glow still shining from the Faerie lights along the walls gleamed off the one black eye and one pale blue eye that kept such a careful watch on her and she almost gasped. _A Hunter!_ _Impossible!_ She fought the urge to check the other male's eyes and danced backwards a little quicker instead. She needed more _space!_

The pair stalked her back into the corridor she had come up, and the smoke grew thicker around them once more. She coughed into the fabric tied over her nose and mouth and felt tears sting her eyes as she tried to blink away the acrid fumes.

The Seelie Queen drew on her power again and sent another powerful assault rushing up the tunnel into them, using the blinding flash of light and resulting moments of disorientation to cover her quick retreat as the shards of her magic deflected off the Unseelie's protection and carved out deep chunks from the walls. She had nearly an eighty-foot gap between them by the time the afterimages had cleared.

The Hunter laughed as he emerged from the haze again. "You'll only tire yourself out like this, sweet Arynessa! We can keep this up much longer than you can!"

"See if you can keep _this_ up," she snarled as she heaved one last devastating salvo of fireballs not into the two Faeries, but into the ceiling of the tunnel between them. The earth groaned under the force of the barrage and then buckled dangerously. A sheet of dirt cascaded down and kicked up a choking cloud of debris.

Arynessa didn't waste a second.

She spun on her heel and ran.

Behind her, the groan became a roar as the ceiling collapsed. A rush of wind ripped up the corridor and threw the Seelie Queen face down as it blew past her, coating her in a layer of filth. Reverberations echoed along the passages and she pushed herself to her feet in a hurry.

 _Run!_

Her breath burned in her lungs and she had a cramp in her side, but she forced herself to run ahead of the catastrophe unfolding behind her. She didn't have any idea where she was anymore; all she knew was that stopping meant death.

She lost track of how far she ran, but when the distant thundering rumble behind her finally faded away, she knew that she was very far from home.

Arynessa let herself collapse to her hands and knees in exhaustion. She panted shallowly and tugged away the strip of cloth from her mouth. Grimacing at how dirty it had become, she reluctantly used it to wipe the sweat from her brow in nearly black streaks. She looked back the way she had come in a sort of numb shock that she couldn't quite process.

"What have you done, Baelerithon?" She whispered in horror.

It was impossible. The Seelie Court had stood for centuries uncounted. And now...

She let her tears fall at last, alone in a tunnel that was miles from anywhere useful. She had no idea how to get to the Rift from where she was, or even if she could, or should. Her thoughts turned bitter. Bael had known about her relationship with Sol; it was just as likely that he might have targeted the Rift, or be watching for her to surface there when his lackeys returned empty handed. If they returned.

When the Unseelie had taken control of the Court under Malchezed, they had wanted to keep it intact and under their rule. But this... he must have lost his mind. He had wanted to be King badly enough to murder his own mother, but now he was willing to throw it all away just to get revenge. It didn't add up with her understanding of him. He never sacrificed resources without gaining position. What game was he playing now?

She felt stupid. She had badly underestimated him, and now her people had paid the price. How many of them had been crushed in the collapse? How many had been consumed by the fires? How many would ever follow her now that she had lost everything? Her mind raced in dizzying circles. Everything had turned to ashes and dust.

A dark humour settled over her as she realized that now she had some idea of how the Nephilim must have felt when-

 _The Nephilim._

A strange kind of hope kindled in her heart. What more did she have to lose?

The Cold Peace could be damned for all she cared. Both races had suffered such horrific tragedies in recent weeks. Perhaps now was the perfect time to start again. If nothing else, going to the Shadowhunters would keep the Seelie crown out of Baelerithon's hands for a little while longer; Rayce had been right about that much, at least.

The Queen rose to her feet and scrubbed away the dark tear-tracks on her cheeks. Whatever the consequences for herself, this was the last thing she could do for the Fey. If the Nephilim chose to kill her for violating the Treaty, then she prayed that Solarius would keep their people together when she was gone.

Arynessa straightened her crown and lifted her chin as she started moving again, away from the Seelie Court. She wondered if Rayce would speak for her, if she could find him. She wondered if she would even make it past the gates of the city.

She wondered how much time she had left.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sera opened her eyes into her dream world and found the same haunting landscape she had encountered every night for nearly two weeks._

 _Morgernstern Manor rose out of the gloom behind her. It was neither day nor night, not truly, not here, but somewhere in between. Everything was washed in grey tones that sucked the life out of everything around her. The once-beautiful dogwood and birch trees lining the drive were bare and skeletal, and the rolling lawns were hard-baked earth. The windows of the manor house yawned back at her, empty, silent witnesses to the desolation around her. The buildings were untouched, but it was as if the land itself had died._

" _This is bullshit," she muttered to herself. A weak breeze stirred the hem of her short, white negligee against the backs of her thighs and she ran her fingers back through her dishevelled hair distractedly._

 _She had been trying to bend her gift toward searching out the scattered remnants of the Wild Hunt, but every time she laid down and tried, this is what she found. It was a waste of time._

" _What's bullshit?" A voice whispered out of thin air._

 _Sera whirled around._

 _Nothing._

 _She tested the air carefully, feeling with her dream sense to try to learn what was out there._

 _Nothing._

 _Frustration crept in around the edges of her control. She had been the master of her dreams for years, especially once Seraphine had started helping her learn to hone and control her gift, sharpening it into a razor edge that she could wield on the other side of sleep to find her way. Now she just felt lost._

 _She closed her eyes and prepared her mind to pull away from the useless tableau. There would probably still be more than enough time to get some real sleep once she woke._

" _That's right, run away," the voice teased again._

" _Hey," she snapped back. "Shove off. This is my dream. You don't get to tell me what to do."_

 _The nothingness didn't react._

"… _and I can talk to myself if I want to," she finished indignantly when it became clear that no one was there._

" _You're making a mistake."_

" _So are you, if you think you can take me on here. Show yourself." A hint of uneasiness bloomed in her heart. She had read about demons that wormed their way in through the connection that joined the dream world to her realm and others beyond. Seraphine had lectured endlessly about them over the years, and Sera had learned how to defend against their attacks. She worked on building up an armoured wall around her consciousness and then used her friend's lessons to tie her defenses into the lingering protection of the spells laid over her by Brother Isaiah and Sister Philomena all those years ago before her mother had murdered them._

 _Sera waited expectantly, unknowingly holding her breath, though it hardly mattered here._

 _Nothing._

" _That's what I thought," she muttered._

 _Behind her, she heard faint crying from the manor. Sera turned again and saw row upon row of darkened windows looking back at her, concealing the secrets within, daring her to come closer. The noise was unsettling; every time she had ended up here she hadn't seen or heard anyone._

 _A second cry joined the first and she started jogging forward without thinking about it. Her bare feet found hidden rocks in the barren scrub that had been the front lawn, and they tore at the soles of her feet in stinging flashes as she ran faster._

 _Sera left a trail of bloody footprints behind her as she ran up the front steps two at a time and shoved her way through the double front doors. She caught herself panting and forced her heart rate to slow and her breathing to even out. Letting fear get the upper hand was a rookie mistake._

 _From inside the manor there was no mistaking it. Two infants were wailing away somewhere upstairs, squalling for all they were worth. She climbed the main staircase slowly, her blood almost invisible on the dark hardwood. Her eyes turned upward cautiously, but there was nothing waiting in the darkness for her._

 _At the top, she turned left and headed toward the wing she shared with Rayce. Bedrooms with furniture still draped in white sheets passed on either side and she fought down the urge to check them out before moving past them. They felt just as empty and lifeless as the rest of the manor; whatever was here was ahead._

 _Sera drew level with the last door before the master suite and stopped, her hand hovering over the doorknob. The cries were definitely coming from inside._

Just open it, you coward, _she berated herself. She didn't understand why she was so disturbed by the thought of what was waiting on the other side of the door. She considered just leaving, pulling herself back into the waking world the way she had intended outside, but it was too late. She couldn't leave without knowing._

 _She took a deep breath and turned the handle._

 _Twin cribs stood in the centre of the otherwise barren room. The crying fell silent the moment the door opened, and the quiet was suddenly deafening in contrast. Sera could feel herself shaking._

 _Slowly edging closer to look into cribs, she felt a chill in the room creep up her legs. Her uneven breath clouded before vanishing in the wan light coming from the pair of wide windows._

 _Two beautiful, pink-faced babies were kicking idly within their loosened white swaddling, their tiny fists balled up as they wriggled. In the strange cast of the room, it was hard to tell if their hair was actually white or simply blond, but Sera instantly, impossibly, recognized them._

 _She felt gentle hands slide over the smooth satin at her waist and then she heard Rayce's voice in her ear, "Perfect, aren't they?"_

 _Relief crashed through her and she let herself sag backwards into his arms, her hands sliding up his forearms gratefully. "Rayce."_

 _He nuzzled into her neck. "Sera." She could almost feel his smile as he kissed his way back up to her ear. "What were you so afraid of?"_

" _I don't know," she confessed, arching into him a little as his hands drifted lower to brush the tops of her thighs. She was torn between wanting to stay for more or just waking up to the real thing. A giddy rush flooded through her at the realization that she could have him no matter what. The light from outside dimmed as if clouds had rolled in to cover the source of the grey glow, and deep shadows fell across the room._

" _Were you afraid that you're going to be a terrible mother?" His voice was a quiet purr in her ear._

 _Sera froze, her nails lightly imbedded in his arm. "What?"_

 _He gave a low chuckle and tightened his embrace, his right arm across her hips pinning her body to his while his free left hand traced up her throat and turned her head away. His thumb stroked along her jaw and he kissed her cheek softly._

" _Oh, Sera," he whispered in the increasing darkness, "we both know that you aren't the nurturing type. You're too selfish."_

 _She tried to shake free, but he only held her more firmly._

" _You've got blood on your hands, Sera," he breathed, "you're a killer, just like me."_

 _No longer caring if he was her husband or not, she brought her heel down hard on the instep of his right foot and twisted away as he yelled in pain and slackened his grip. Sera crouched between him and the cribs and watched as he straightened, his shock of white hair shining despite the shadows that had consumed the rest of the room. He held up his hands defensively, laughing when he saw the look of confused hurt on her face._

" _Don't worry, my beloved, I'm just as guilty as you are." Blood dripped from his fingers onto the floor of the nursery and left glittering red splotches on the white-washed boards._

 _Sera looked down and saw her own hands gloved in scarlet. She let out a low moan when she saw the shredded mess of her nightgown and the macabre stain across her abdomen. Her stomach lurched at the sight and she fell to her knees, her husband's laughter filling her ears even as she wrenched herself away from this nightmare._

Sera rolled out of bed and hit the small, shaggy oval rug on the dark hardwood with a thud. Her white tank top and black booty shorts clung to her skin in a clammy mess and her hair was damp with sweat, but those were the least of her problems as her stomach rolled angrily again.

She forced herself up to her feet and made a mad dash through the early-morning light for the ensuite bathroom, skidding on the tiles as she threw herself toward the toilet just in time. Even as the first heave caught her, she felt her hair lift gently away from her face and there were cool fingers on the back of her neck. _Rayce._ She had no doubt that if she had been able to see him, she would also have been able to see the telltale wisps of black smoke that accompanied his _shifting._ _Cheater._

When she was fairly certain that she had vomited up everything she had eaten since the wedding, she reached up weakly to give the tank one last flush. Embarrassment crashed through her when she felt Rayce gently stroking her back.

"Oh, God," she groaned, her throat still burning a bit. "I don't think I can handle puking my guts out in front of you." She let her head hang over the rim and kept her eyes closed, already knowing that they would be bloodshot and not wanting him to see her like this.

"I made a promise," he said cheerfully. She heard the tap run briefly and then felt him prod a glass of water into her right hand. "And although I'm not sure if this is comforting or not, this isn't the first time you've puked around me," he added, reminding her of her body's reaction to using an Alliance rune with someone who was only half-Downworlder when she had saved him from the werewolves in Brocelind Forest.

"You're right, that's not as helpful as you might think." Her words echoed in the porcelain bowl. She couldn't hide her face in here forever. _Well, not forever... but maybe like, eight months or so would be good._ She reluctantly emerged.

Either Rayce was very good at reading her or he just had good instincts, because he leaned back against the wall and pulled her into his arms, tucking her under his chin so he wasn't _actually_ seeing her in all of her morning sickness glory. Feeling his arms around her made her remember her nightmare again, but she shoved it away angrily. In the light of day it was easier to bury what she had dreamed. None of it made sense. _This_ was her Rayce.

"It's only fair that I'm here for the bad parts, too, you know," he told her as he ran his fingers through her hair soothingly. "I _did_ kind of do this to you."

Sera snorted. "If I recall correctly, and I always do, _I_ jumped _you_ that night." She felt, rather than heard, the rumble of laughter in his chest.

"We'll call it a draw then, shall we?"

"Speaking of jumping you…" Sera raked her nails lightly down his bare chest, "I don't think I really want to go back to sleep right now, but I could _definitely_ go back to bed after brushing my teeth, if you know what I mean."

Rayce tilted his head back to gauge the amount of light coming through the bathroom window. "Aspen and Hunter will probably be here soon to start on the dining room…"

"Then I guess I'd better brush my teeth quickly." Sera leaped to her feet, already feeling much better, and set about making herself slightly more presentable.

"You're insatiable," Rayce said with a grin before kissing her shoulder and leaving her alone. She watched his retreat in the mirror and gloried in her freedom to thoroughly ogle her husband's muscled back as he disappeared into the bedroom. He was absolutely, stunningly perfect, even with the new scars from the Unseelie Court. _My dreams can bloody well stuff it._

A jarring clamour of metal crashing off metal in the east wing shattered the early morning quiet, and then the banging continued, resolving into a steady beat that sounded as if was accompanied by the stomping of boots. Sera could just manage to hear raised voices, and she spat her toothpaste into the sink in a hurry, not bothering to rinse. _Oh, for the love of-_

" _Demon pox, oh demon pox! Just how is it acquired…"_

Sera shook her head and decided that she wasn't hearing it properly as she bounded through the master bedroom and caught up to Rayce as he sprang out of bed and made a run for the opposite side of the house.

"... _not the pox, you foolish-_ Woah!" A man's voice cut off suddenly and a flash of fear shot through Rayce.

"Zeke?" He called worriedly.

"No," Sera sighed as they passed the main staircase and she once more banished the phantasms of her dream. "Jace."

Zeke slightly adjusted his grip on Jace Herondale's left wrist, pressing his thumb down in just the right spot to force the other man's hand to open and drop what looked like a cast-iron pot lid. He dug his knee into the Shadowhunter's back with a little more force than was strictly necessary as he held him pinned face-down on the floor, but to be fair, it was _way_ too early to put up with this crap. He loosened the headlock he had on Alicante's number one golden boy.

"You'd better have a very good reason to make that kind of infernal racket at this time of the morning," he growled.

"Your boyfriend left me stranded in Brocelind Forest," Jace puffed out laboriously, "so I couldn't very well annoy _him_ half to death. You were the next best option. If _I_ didn't get to sleep because he left me there to walk back alone, then neither will _you._ "

Zeke released his hold in disgust and rose from his knees. "You Herondales are all the same, aren't you? Banging on about demon pox and thinking the whole world revolves around you. You're almost as bad as Stephen was."

In a rare moment, Jace was speechless. He went still and returned Zeke's hard stare. "You knew my father?"

"I didn't get Stripped for joining a knitting circle, boy."

Sera and Rayce practically fell through the doorway as they slid to halt when they saw the two men eyeing each other intensely.

"What the _hell_ is going on in here?" Sera demanded. She turned her raptor gaze on Jace. "You'd better have a very good reason to be making that kind of noise when the sun's barely up."

Jace held up his hands. "Okay. So, just to be clear, the general consensus is that I'm allowed to make a lot of noise as long as I either have a very good reason, or if it's after breakfast?"

"No," Rayce answered flatly.

"And certainly not in my bedroom. Out. Out!" Zeke shooed them all out so that he could pull on a little more than the boxer-briefs he had been sleeping in when Jace had barged into the room for his ill-conceived revenge.

Downstairs, Sera plugged the coffee-maker into a red-splattered outlet and made a mental note to get the kids to fix that before they started in the dining room. While enthusiastic, Aspen was still usually more of a liability than a help, but Hunter was surprisingly good at both painting and keeping his parabatai focused. The kitchen looked fantastic now that he had finished touching up the rough patches, and Sera was looking forward to seeing a bit more life breathed into the manor. She shivered when she remembered the drained look of the estate in her dream.

Rayce caught her eye and gave her a small smile over the skillet he was heating up on the stove, and she couldn't help but smile back. His look said that they would still have plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time this morning later tonight. Hers said, ' _challenge accepted.'_ He laughed to himself and looked down, shaking his head at their private conversation.

Zeke slouched into the kitchen and pulled a chair up to the small, raised table that was serving as a breakfast nook while the furniture in the dining room was removed as a precaution against further paint mishaps. He had wrapped a holey robe around himself and shoved his feet into what Rayce affectionately called his "old man slippers." Looking at Zeke, it was hard to remember that the former Shadowhunter was actually pushing 70 when he looked no older than Rayce.

"Tell me that pan is for bacon," he muttered.

"It is," Rayce reassured him.

"Excellent," Jace cut in, helping himself to a mango from the bowl on the counter.

"No," Sera scolded, brandishing a spatula at him as she started cracking eggs into a mixing bowl. "You've lost your bacon privileges."

"And you can square up with Cassius properly in about 10 seconds, too," Zeke added helpfully while looking over his shoulder as if he could see through the wall to where he could feel the Faerie suddenly appearing on the front step.

Jace dropped the mango he had started peeling with a dagger from his boot. "What?" He dove behind the counter to retrieve it just in time.

The one-winged Faerie stepped lightly into the kitchen on bare feet and smiled broadly at Rayce and Sera before moving to stand behind Zeke. He laid his hand on his mate's shoulder gently, a surprising gesture of public affection, although Sera wasn't exactly sure that their impromptu pajama-party breakfast counted as 'public'.

Cassius had continued to politely ignore Sera's requests that he at least pull on a shirt around the house, and she noticed that his deadly _torahk-na_ were casually looped on either hip over his usual low-cut leather pants.

He turned his grey eyes on Jace as the Shadowhunter stood up, mango in hand, and feigned surprise. "Heavens above, did you only get this far after I left you? It's been _hours._ "

"I'm _aware_ that it's been hours, you bat-winged bastard," Jace hissed, throwing the half-peeled mango at Cassius with a quick flick of his wrist. The Faerie's left hand shot out and caught the fruit effortlessly. He casually bit into it with a nod of approval.

Jace shook his head and pursed his lips. "Oh, that's it-"

"Knock it off," Sera warned, "we already have two kids on the way – we don't need any more."

Amused eyebrows went up around the kitchen at the unexpected mention of her pregnancy, and Sera's face flushed. "I meant Hunter. And Aspen. To paint."

Jace grinned knowingly. "Thought of any names yet?"

 _No,_ Sera thought guiltily, _because naming them makes them more real._ An entirely different sort of queasiness gnawed at her as her doubts returned to hiss the accusations from her dream anew, _'You're making a mistake.'_

She was spared from answering his question when the doorbell rang, and she nearly sighed with relief. "That's probably them now. I'll get it."

Sera was starting to regret not taking the time to find some yoga pants or something, since she hadn't really been counting on hosting this morning, but that regret turned into full-blown mortification when she opened one of the front doors and found Mark Blackthorn standing on her porch. Her mouth fell open.

"Mark?"

He gave her the ghost of a smile. "One day, someone will not be surprised to see me, and it will bring me joy." He looked to his left and Sera opened the door a bit wider to see that Cristina was standing there with their youngest child hugging herself to her mother's chest, arms sprawled around the Shadowhunter's neck, apparently asleep. The other two were just behind Cristina, the girl hiding her face shyly while the older boy looked at the manor in amazement.

"Please forgive me, Sera," Mark pleaded quietly, "but Rayce is my closest living kin in Idris and we are in dire need of somewhere safe to shelter. We were told that we could find him here."

"Of _course_ ," she gasped, pushing the door open wide, still in shock that they had brought their Mundane children with them. Whatever had happened, it must have been serious.

"Do you _live_ here?" The boy wondered in awe as they crossed the threshold and he took in the faded grandeur of Morgenstern Manor. When the restorations were complete, it would be beautiful once more.

"Working on it," Sera said wryly. She led them back toward the kitchen and gave up on caring about what she was wearing. It looked like it was going to be a weird morning; might as well be comfy.

" _Mark?"_ Jace sputtered as the newcomers entered the kitchen. "Cristina!"

"Jace," Cristina answered warmly, their old friendship cracking the icy facade she had been maintaining to keep it together while they had fled their home and flown halfway across the world. Esmeralda woke up sleepily and her mother set her down carefully. The adults were halfway through a hasty round of introductions by the time they got to Cassius and saw that all three of the Mundanes were already staring at the Greater Faerie, frozen in disbelief.

Sera looked at him hopelessly, ready to apologize for scaring the children, but when she gave him a second glance, she saw that the _torahk-na_ had mysteriously vanished and he was smiling gently down at the girls. He stepped away from Zeke slowly and crouched down to their level, silently inviting them to come closer if they wanted to.

Oddly, it was Esmeralda who was the first to take him up on his unspoken offer. She approached him shyly, her big dark eyes wide as she took in the pointed tips of his ears and his slightly exaggerated canines. Her small hand reached out to touch the long white braid that hung over his tanned shoulder.

Not to be outdone, Micaela joined her sister and circled around behind Cassius to get a better look at his wing. He held absolutely still as she ran a finger curiously along the long radius and poked lightly at the leathery membrane.

Lucas turned to look at his father, wide-eyed. "It's all real. Everything you said. Angels and demons and Shadowhunters and..." he trailed off as he let his eyes slide back to where his sisters were quietly studying Cassius up close, "Faeries." He scrubbed his hands back through his spiky black hair, a habit of his. "And vampires and werewolves and warlocks... and... and..." He laughed giddily. " _Everything."_

" _Todas las historias son verdadera,"_ Cristina said sadly.

"But, mom! This is awes-" Shimmering blue light shot up the hallway through the narrow windows on either side of the front doors, cutting him off.

" _That_ had better be Hunter and Aspen," Sera muttered under her breath as they heard the door open again.

Clary's red hair bobbed into view as she led her daughter and Hunter through the front entry and into the kitchen, her hands full with two pastry boxes. The kids were carrying a jug of orange juice and a 6-pack of muffins. Simon brought up the rear, already idly chewing on a bit of what looked like a cheese danish. When he saw how crowded the kitchen was, his mouth fell open a bit and a few crumbs escaped.

"Jace?" Clary looked surprised to find her missing husband here.

Simon's eyes bulged. "Mawh-k?" He managed to say around his mouthful of Danish.

Hunter's eyebrows climbed when he caught sight of Cassius still kneeling with the girls. "Um, Sera? There's a Faerie in your kitchen. Did you know?"

Rubbing her eyes, Sera sighed. "I'm aware. And technically speaking, with Rayce and Mark here, I think we have enough to make two Faeries."

Aspen hadn't even noticed Cassius and the two little girls who had retreated to hide behind him as the newest arrivals had come in. She only had eyes for Lucas. His casually ruffled, black spiky hair perfectly offset his excited hazel eyes, and a lifetime spent in the California sun had darkened his skin to a beautiful almond tone that begged to be caressed. _Did I just think the word, 'caress'?_ Aspen shook the thought away. _Ugh._

"Hey," she breathed, immediately hating herself for what might possibly have been the absolute worst pick-up line in the history of the Herondale line. "I'm single. I mean, I'm Aspen." She stuck her hand out stiffly and felt herself blushing madly. _Ohmigod_ , _my parents are here._ She prayed hard that the grown-ups were too busy to notice what was happening on the sidelines.

Lucas grinned back at her, seemingly unphased by her unusual gold eyes, and took her outstretched hand in his own. His grip was warm and strong, and she felt herself melt a little when she met his eyes.

"I'm available. I mean, I'm Lucas," he whispered with a conspiratorial wink. He looked down at where the top edge of her _parabatai_ rune was peeking out above her tank top and then took a better look at the hand he was holding, seeing the Voyance rune across it. "You're one of _them_ , aren't you? A Shadowhunter?"

Aspen didn't have a chance to answer. A well-muscled shoulder leaned casually against the recently-painted wall next to them, and bare arms flexed as they crossed over a broad chest.

" _I'm_ listening. I mean, I'm Hunter," her parabatai said with a lazy smile that held a hint of threat. "And I'm one of _them_ , too."

Lucas's eyes widened and then he shot a confused glance at Aspen. "Boyfriend?"

"Worse," Hunter assured him, "Parabatai."

When that didn't clear up any of the confusion on Lucas' face, Aspen scowled at her best friend. "I'll explain later," she huffed.

With introductions and quick small-talk dying down between the adults, Cristina looked to Sera and asked if there was anywhere for her kids to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

"Sure, there's plenty of bedrooms upstairs if you don't mind a bit of dust." Sera beckoned for them to follow her. The girls lingered with Cassius for a few moments longer before he gave them a gentle nudge toward their mother.

"Another time, little ones," he promised quietly. Esmeralda giggled, then ran to her mother and took her hand. Micaela followed reluctantly. It was Lucas who didn't move.

"I want to stay," he insisted.

Cristina shot a dark look at her husband but didn't force the issue.

An awkward silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the sizzling and popping of the bacon in Rayce's pan. He shook his head at the grease spatter all over the stove. "I could have _sworn_ the lid was here yesterday…" he muttered to himself.

When Sera and Cristina returned, the younger woman jabbed a finger at Jace. "All right. I think I know why _you're_ here, even if I don't like it. And I both get, and appreciate, you three," she added, pointing at Aspen, Hunter, and Clary. Her gaze paused questioningly on Simon and he held up what had to be his third cheese danish.

"Free food," he offered innocently.

Clary elbowed him. "If I had known that you were going to eat a whole box by yourself, I would have brought more," she said under her breath.

Sera rolled her eyes at Simon and passed over Zeke, who was definitely allowed to be here. "You two," she said to Cassius and Mark, "have some explaining to do. I don't mind running St. Morgenstern's Home for Wayward Exiles, Excommunicates, and Illegals, but I at least want to know what's going on."

Mark bowed his head respectfully to Cassius. "After you, my Lord."

"I am no Lord," Cassius corrected. "Please, my story make take some time, and I wish to know why you have risked bringing your children so very far and to such an uncertain reception in Alicante."

"Do you see?" Cristina said sharply to Mark. "Even _he_ does not think the Nephilim will allow our children to remain within their borders.

Jace stepped between them and laid his hand on her shoulder soothingly. "A lot's changed in twenty years, Tina. The city has seen plenty of the Ascendant, and we all know where they came from. Tell us what brought you here and I'll speak to Alec myself."

She looked unconvinced, but she let Mark tell of Fiorinor's chilling visit. He warned them that all of the Hunters had been Unbound, and that many of them would no doubt be looking for trouble.

When he had finished his tale, Mark waited for gasps of shock or worried glances, but the gathered Shadowhunters didn't even seem surprised to find that a magic that had held the worst of the Fey in check for untold centuries had suddenly come undone. His split blue and gold eyes flicked back and forth between Rayce and Sera until comprehension dawned.

"You already knew," he whispered. More than a few of the faces around him reddened with shame. "Why did you not send a warning so that we might have been prepared?" His heart's cry went unspoken. _Why did you not tell me sooner than Kieran was free?_

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, and Mark nodded slowly in understanding. "The Clave wished me forgotten; it would seem that they did their job well." He shook off the guilty stares and turned to Cassius. "If I have brought my family into danger, then so, too, have you placed yourself at risk in coming to Idris. What business does one of the Fair Folk have with the Nephilim?"

"It was one of the Nephilim who had business with me, in truth, though I regret that I could not have been of more use." Cassius spread his hands helplessly. "The Consul asks questions to which I do not hold the answers."

"What did Alec want?" Jace asked curiously. His parabati had been surprisingly tight-lipped about his request for Jace to hunt down the Faerie and ask him for a word, but Jace had shrugged it off as nothing more than his brother's stress of retaking his position.

"Many of your Institutes have been reporting curious disturbances along the borders of old Fey territories. They are unable to investigate further without the involvement of the Scholomance because of the Cold Peace, but from what little they are able to see around the edges, it's as if the land is dying within."

Sera felt her blood run cold for a moment as the dead landscape of her dreams flashed before her eyes. _Maybe the dreams aren't as useless as I thought._ She stewed quietly on what she had seen.

Clary's green eyes filled with worry. "Is it because of what we did on Wrangel Island? Did we cause some sort of imbalance?" She was already skimming over possibilities in her mind. "Or does it have to do with-"

"These are the questions I cannot answer, Clarissa Herondale," Cassius cut her off gently. "Even if I were to go to the affected areas, I would not know what to look for. My studies do not include the workings of the Earth's magic."

Sera exhaled through her nose. _Yeah, you just keep track of who's banging who and making babies_ ,she thought uncharitably. She winced when she remembered her promise to send him a nice card if there were any more Morgensterns on the way after telling him to keep his nose out of their bedroom. _I guess the cat's out of the bag on that one._

Jace had been quietly shaking his head while his wife had been speaking. "No," he said. "It's too much of a coincidence to believe that these… blights… are showing up only in Faerie territories _now._ " He gave Rayce a significant look. "What are the odds that your brother has something to do with this?"

Rayce stopped poking at the heap of scrambled eggs he had taken over making after Sera had become distracted by the unexpected guests. "I don't know," he answered slowly, "Bael's magic did not work to kill. He was a healer." Old memories surfaced of the living boughs of trees coaxed into growing to create an aerial gym for him as a child. "His gift nurtured life; it did not destroy it."

"And do you think that's still true now that he has the Unseelie crown?" Jace pressed. Mark's eyes widened and his lips parted in shock to hear that there was a new King of the Unseelie Court, but the news left him speechless and unable to interrupt.

"I'm not sure… I don't know much about the crowns, but I thought they served to amplify gifts, not provide new ones…" Rayce trailed off uncertainly.

Cassius looked down in shame. "And it is my fault that the Eternal Forest was able to make a gift of the crown to him." When he lifted his face, Sera saw a new glimmer of fire in his eyes. "Whatever aid I might offer in correcting my error shall be yours, Nephilim, I swear it. If I must journey into Deep Faerie, the Courts, the Rift, or beyond, I will help you find the answers you seek."

"Not without me," Zeke grunted. "But it might be a bit tricky to get permission to go snooping around in the Seelie Court depending on what sort of temper her Royal Moodiness is in. By the sounds of it, _none_ of us are getting into the Unseelie Court any time soon, and you have no idea how stable the Rift is these days, or even if Solarius will let you come back after hanging around up here." He poked a finger at his partner. "Be a bit more careful before you make promises like that."

"It is in the Queen's own best interests to allow us to find out what Baelerithon is doing," Cassius said soothingly. "She will permit me to search the Seelie libraries if she is asked properly." He looked to Rayce hopefully. "Perhaps you could intercede on my behalf?"

Rayce rubbed the back of his neck doubtfully. He could still vividly recall his sister's stinging slap across his face the last time they had spoken, and the uneasy feeling he had gotten when she had let her words slip at the end of the conversation. "I might not be a great choice for that."

"And don't pick me," Sera said as she pulled down plates so that people could start serving themselves from the pans. She snatched the box of danishes away from Simon and noted that at least one more had gone missing. "I'm pretty sure she won't be happy about how our last face-to-face went, either."

"Didn't she send you guys a nice wedding gift?" Simon asked curiously, already eyeballing the counter where Sera set down the sorely-depleted box of pastries.

"The jury's still out on that one," she answered stiffly. She tried not to think about what purpose the necklaces intended for the babies might have.

"Either way," Jace said dismissively, "it's worth trying. For some reason, I just don't trust guys who send severed heads as wedding gifts."

Cristina inhaled a few crumbs from her danish and she coughed. Lucas' eyes widened and he looked sideways at Aspen to whisper, "Is that a thing?"

"Nope, it was pretty messed up."

Another peal from the doorbell sounded just as Sera started to reach for the heap of bacon Rayce had left dangerously close to Zeke. She threw her hands up instead. "Oh, for the love of Raziel, is there even anyone else _left_ who could show up now?"

"I can get it," Rayce offered quickly, already hastily drying his hands on a dish towel.

"No, no," she waved him off. "I like it when you cook. Stay." He shrugged helplessly at the others as his wife left again and he tossed the towel back over his shoulder while he continued working.

"I'm telling you, Rayce," Jace said quietly, "just duck and cover for the next... oh, I don't know, ten years or so, okay? Then it'll be safe to come up for air."

Clary's nostrils flared and she brandished the bacon tongs threateningly. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Make it twenty," Jace breathed through a gleaming smile for his for his nephew's ears alone, though he was almost certain that he saw Cassius' lips twitch.

Sera padded down the front hall again and grumbled internally about having a kitchen full of guests instead of a bed full of Rayce. She tried to think of who else could possibly be at the door, and unless it was Alec or his sister, she was pretty stumped. Her hand closed over the handle and she pulled.

 _Oh, karma,_ she sighed internally.

Standing with her back straight despite the torn and filthy nightgown, in defiance of her mud-streaked hair and arms, was... _the world's worst sister-in-law, her Royal Bitchiness, the Queen of the Goddamn Seelie Court._

"Arynessa," Sera forced herself to smile. "You look terrible."

The Queen was far more skilled at wearing a pleasant mask, and her full lips turned up lightly as she took in Sera's rumpled tank top, the shadows under her eyes from her dark dreams, the faint smell of sickness, and her bed-head. "As do you, Sera," she said sweetly.

 _Gotta love that Faeries can't lie._

Sera blocked the doorway with her body and crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"I wish to speak with my brother."

The Shadowhunter shot a quick glance over her shoulder to see if anyone had poked their head around to see who had come, but there was no one there. She turned back to the Faerie Queen.

" _If_ I let you in, I want you to remember that it's not just him you're fucking with now, it's both of us." She narrowed her golden eyes in warning.

Sera had no way to know how deeply her threat cut into the other woman's heart, how Arynessa wished that Solarius would fight for her as fiercely as Sera would for Rayce. The Queen buried it all behind a faintly-amused expression that gave away nothing. "I will keep that in mind."

"You'd better," Sera muttered as she stepped aside and allowed the Queen of the Seelie Court to enter Morgenstern Manor. She hoped Rayce's ancestors on _both_ sides were rolling over in their graves at the irony of the situation.

Stunned silence greeted the dirtied and worn Queen as she entered the kitchen. She held her head high and cut a quick, razor-like gaze across the odd gathering. The early morning sunlight coming through the wide kitchen windows sparkled off the unmarred Seelie crown, the only part of her that seemed untouched by whatever she had gone through.

Zeke was the first to recover. "It's going to take a lot of scrubbing to get that much mud out of your clothes, your Highness."

A lesser woman might have scowled in response, but the Queen only lifted an eyebrow. "Then I suppose you had better get started, Ezekiel."

"Highness...?" Jace stared hard at the crown nestled in Arynessa's lilac-hued hair and tried to reconcile it with the Faerie woman's almost refugee-like appearance. "You're... the new..."

"The Queen of the Seelie Court," she finished for him. "And _you_ are the famous Jace Herondale. Mother was always very fond of you; I believe she chose Rayce's name with you in mind." Jace looked surprised, but the Queen had already dismissed him, letting her violet eyes roam. "And Clarissa Fairchild... mother was perhaps _less_ fond of you."

Clary rolled her eyes. "It was mutual."

"And the Daylighter-turned-Mundane-turned-Nephilim," the Faerie said approvingly.

"I just go by Simon now," he offered nervously. "Easier to fit on my business cards."

If she was surprised to see Cassius there she hid it, likely accepting that wherever Zeke was, the one-winged Faerie could be expected. She had known about them for years.

Her gaze skipped past Cristina's unfamiliar face and then her breath hitched in her throat. Her hands trembled in the first real sign of emotion she had allowed herself since emerging into the world Above.

"Nerissa's son..." she whispered reverently. Unable to help herself, she moved forward and lifted her hand until she was almost touching Mark's face. Her eyes sparkled. The slightly-pointed tips of his ears marked him as plainly as his features. _The son I always wanted._ The dark-haired woman behind him closed her hands over his shoulders almost possessively when she saw the yearning in the Queen's eyes.

"Arynessa," Rayce called to her, snapping her out of her reverie. "What's happened? Why are you here?"

She forced herself to look away from Mark.

"The Court was attacked by members of the Hunt, and I fear our home has been destroyed," she declared distantly.

" _Destroyed?"_ Several of the Nephilim echoed her.

"How does it feel when it happens to _you_?" Jace muttered. Zeke smacked him in the back of the head.

"Baelerithon managed to convince at least a handful of allies to collapse the tunnels," she continued evenly. "He sent others to capture me. He may seek to strike at you as well, brother."

Sera snorted into the cup of coffee she had just poured from the fresh pot. "So you thought it was a genius idea to make sure the two of you were in the same place to make that even easier for him? Brilliant."

"Sera," Rayce warned. He didn't know how he should feel. _Destroyed..._ the Seelie Court had been both his home and his prison for so long that he couldn't separate the two in his mind. At the moment, it was too overwhelming to sort out.

The Queen ignored the barb. "I never thought that he would be capable of something like this. I suspected that he might try to come for me when I was unable to summon the Hunt, but this... I cannot understand it."

Rayce grimaced. "I'm afraid our brother has found his way to a crown despite our best efforts. Baelerithon holds the Unseelie throne now."

His sister's eyes darkened in response. "Then I am even more convinced that I made the right decision in coming here."

"Why come here at all?" Sera challenged her. "Why didn't you run to the Rift? Surely Solarius would protect you again."

Arynessa silently absorbed the hurt again. "Because if I must hide from Baelerithon to keep the Seelie crown out of his reach, then I choose to do so while trying to permanently help the Fey." She threw a pointed look at Jace. "Perhaps now that both of our people have been forced to start over in the ashes of our homes, the time has come to mend past wounds and begin anew."

His golden eyes were hard as he returned her glare. "And you _know_ who did the burning, right?"

The Seelie Queen smouldered with anger. "Do you have _any_ idea what the Cold Peace did to-"

"Okay, no," Sera cut in. "It's way too early to get into political debates and do the finger-pointing thing." She put a restraining hand on Jace's shoulder. "You should get back to Alicante and fill Alec in, maybe see if he'll swing by. And I guess," she said grudgingly with a look at Arynessa's ruined nightgown, "it's time for me to return the favour and lend you some of _my_ clothes. Come on."

"And we'll find some proper rooms for everyone to stay in," Rayce added as chairs started scraping back and people finished their last bites of breakfast. Zeke, having already been given a room, stubbornly remained in his chair and kept close watch over the bacon plate.

As the adults drifted away, Aspen hung back, her eyebrows knitted in concentration. Lucas watched her curiously. Hunter lurked nearby and watched him watching her.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered distractedly. "So, your dad is Rayce's... nephew? Or something? Right?"

Lucas shrugged noncommittally. "Um... I think so? This is all kinda new to me."

She screwed up her face and. "So, then that makes you my..." Aspen strained to think. He gave her a blank look.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're going for here."

"I'm trying to figure out what your blood relation is to me. I can't remember if it's the first- and second-cousin thing or if it's once- or twice-removed, or some combination..."

"Oh." Lucas pushed his hand back through his black hair and grinned at her. "I'm adopted."

Aspen's eyes lit up.

"Perfect."

 _**Author's note: My apologies for falling behind again – this is my first day off since the last post, and I'm heading right back into another stretch of nine shifts. Life goes back to being a bit more normal again after that, but I will continue to dutifully lug my laptop back and forth in the meantime to squeak in those 10-15 minutes of writing that I managed to limp by with for this (rather long) chapter._


	7. Chapter 7

_**7**_

Jem swung himself down from his borrowed black horse of the Silent Brothers and landed on slightly cracked asphalt that paved the driveway of a Mundane home. The merciless Nevada summer heat beat down from a clear, sunny sky, completely at odds with the melancholy in his heart. The weather should have been grey and heavy, the streets filled with thick fog to remind him just how lost he felt without _her_.

 _Tessa._ He forced himself to say her name, to force back the pain for even just one minute so that he could hear the echo of her voice in his mind again. But her name started a crack in the shaky dam he had built to hold back the emotions that had been ripping through him since her dea- _Don't say it_. He felt tremors begin to rock his body as he started to come apart again.

The whisper of her name carried with it the curve of her smile, the sparkle in her blue-grey eyes, the feel of her skin under his slim hands. He shook his head as tears welled up again and the ache in his chest swelled anew. Her soft voice on sleepy mornings, the smell of her hair on the pillow beside him… he felt himself begin to drown in the tide again, unable to keep himself from being pulled under even as he was dragged back to his final farewell.

Jem closed his eyes and let the tears fall.

 _The light from the Gard Portal shimmered and cast blue-streaked shadows over the bloodied faces of the fighters who had made their last stand on Wrangel Island. Jem didn't even register the quiet orders that sent some of the Shadowhunters out with the bodies of the fallen while Carolina and Marcos Monteverde shook hands with the Consul and vowed to return once they had gotten the Buenos Aires Institute back on its feet._

 _It was easy to slowly fall farther and farther behind the group as they made their way through the confusing corridors below the Gard that protected the exact location of the Portal. Outside, Jem couldn't even bring himself to feel the shock that should have cut through him when he saw the devastation visited on the city by the Unseelie. A heavy numbness had crept through him like a drug, dulling not only the pain, but his senses._

 _Streets passed in a blur, and he couldn't remember when he had turned away from the path the group was following back to Simon and Isabelle's home. His feet shuffled along the cobblestones in a haze and time seemed to bend around him when he saw the interlocking stones. The weight in his arms could have been Will, pretending to be too drunk to make it back to the Institute on his own. Only the light of the demon towers lit his way, and the dimness of the streets reminded him of old London the way it had been a century and a half ago, when demons had had many more shadows in which to hide._

 _The tears in his eyes fell, temporarily clearing his vision enough to see the blackened facades and shattered masonry scattered across lawns that were starting to look overgrown with their owners missing or dead. The ghost of London fled, only to be replaced by the skeleton of Alicante. He curled his arms in more tightly, clutching Tessa closer to his chest and hitching in a shuddering breath when she only rested limply in his embrace. He would never feel her hands slide up his chest and around the back of his neck again, never happily give in as she pulled him down for one more kiss._

 _Jem's legs buckled. He fell heavily to his knees and gasped, refusing to let go of his wife for a moment. He knelt in the street and bowed his head under the crushing weight of his grief. Raw sobs tore from his throat unchecked._

 _He had never thought that he would ever feel pain like this again, not after Will. He had always thought that he would die first, that Tessa would be forced to suffer through losing another husband.. But he had always taken solace in knowing that Magnus had promised to be there for her when his time came. It was never supposed to have happened like this. He looked down at her still form again._

 _Not like this._

 _The pain burrowing through his chest throbbed in time with his broken heart as he touched his forehead to hers and let the agony take him. Hot streaks fell down his face and washed over hers as if she were mourning with him for the years together they had lost. Empty decades stretched out before him hollowly and he shuddered. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure that he would ever be ready._

 _It was only when the sky began to lighten in the east that he was jarred out of his solitary lamentation, and he staggered back to his feet wearily. He didn't think he could bear to have the sun lay his sorrow bare, and it was still a long walk to where he knew he needed to be._

 _The gentle, grassy fields outside of Alicante fell away behind him as he bore his wife out of the city, their dark expanses steadily growing lighter as the break of a new day crept across them. The storm of the previous night had cleared, leaving an empty horizon broken only by the distant tip of an obelisk. Jem clenched his jaw when he caught sight of it and readjusted his tired grip._

 _Remembering those first days after being transformed by the cleansing touch of the heavenly fire at the advent of the Dark War brought a sad smile to his lips. He had been so conflicted; he had wanted to help Emma and Julian, but he had been so afraid to reveal himself only to be lost in the coming battle. He had tested himself with them, already wondering how he would find the words to explain what had happened when next he met with Tessa and she found him mortal once more._

 _It could have been his name on the memorial that had been constructed after the War to honour the fallen and to mourn for those who had been taken and Turned by Sebastian Morgenstern. Tessa would have arrived for their annual meeting on Blackfriar's Bridge only to wait beyond all hope for someone who would never come. Then this pain that he was feeling would have been hers to bear in his place. Twice she would have loved, and twice she would have lost. If he could find even the faintest light in the darkness, it was that she had not had to endure it again._

 _But he had survived the Endarkened and their Seelie allies, survived the coming of the Wild Hunt, and he had stolen years more with her. Years in which they had spent every minute together, unable to bear being separated again. Years spent paying an old debt before they could rest at last, secure in the knowledge that they had found what once was lost._

 _Great iron gates yawned open ahead of him, and Jem trudged doggedly through them without seeing the runes that decorated their faces, runes that spoke of mourning and loss, but also of healing and hope. Mausoleums passed on either side, and he looked away from the familiar names with sorrow-filled eyes. Every one of those names conjured up faces from the past, ghosts that brought no comfort to him in his misery._

 _Fairchild. Steady purpose and a soft heart. Kind brown eyes. A fierce loyalty to family that extended beyond names to take in strays and care for them as her own._

 _Branwell. Wild inventions and kind words. Untidy ginger hair. A glowing love for life that could not be dampened by a devastating injury that left him crippled._

 _Lightwood. Quiet strength and brash jibes. Fair and dark. Brothers gone astray only to be brought back by love, finding the strength to change their destinies together._

 _The epitaphs on the crypts continued to stream past, and Jem kept his head down as he threaded his way along one of the many small footpaths. It was harder to see these monuments, harder not to think of what would one day lie behind them._

 _Blackthorn. Which names would he live to see etched into the blue-veined marble slabs that stood guard over generations of hopeful-eyed Nephilim?_

 _Carstairs. Would he one day lie within those cold stone walls? Who would be there to close his eyes when death came for him?_

 _His tired feet stopped in the grass. They knew the way well._

 _Herondale._

 _The sun peeked over the natural crest that rose along the eastern side of the necropolis and Jem turned his back on it. He slipped inside the tomb and out of the light._

 _Silence folded around him like a shroud, the thick walls of the crypt blocking out the quiet sounds of the world coming awake outside. He followed the gentle slope downward toward the vaulted archway that led to the main chamber. Carved angels guided his way and welcomed him back, his constant companions through the decades he had spent visiting his parabatai's final resting place both as a Silent Brother and later as a mortal man once more. Stone herons adorned the walls, their graceful forms frozen in flight for all time._

 _A long, low, alabaster slab rested in the centre of the circular vault, and Jem gently laid Tessa down upon it with a heavy heart. A pool of diffuse light filtered down through the delicate lattice work above and gave her a soft glow that almost made her seem alive once more. The walls were lined with small, square doors that masked the ossuaries hidden behind them, and each was marked with the names of the Herondales who had given their lives in service to the Clave over the centuries. Though the majority of their ashes would have been used to strength the Silent City, every Shadowhunter's family was given a small portion to honour as they saw fit, and many Herondales had found their way here._

William Owen Herondale, 1861-1937. _The marker had stood for nearly a century, and it never got easier to see it. Jem drew in an unsteady breath as he gathered his strength for what was to come. He could not allow anyone else to do it._

" _Watch over her, Will," he whispered to his parabatai. "I won't be gone long."_

 _Near the beginning of Shadowhunter history, David the Silent had founded the original city of bones in a subterranean cave nearby, and it had grown over the course of four centuries to become the Silent City. Passages known only to the Brotherhood still existed between the graveyard used by regular Shadowhunters and the catacombs below, and Jem made his way toward one of the entrances as he replayed his last moments with Tessa over and over in his mind._

We'll be together again soon, _she said again and again, not knowing that it was a lie._

 _Jem passed into the tunnels below Idris that led back to his old life as he struggled to face the reality of his new one. What was left to him now?_

 _James... Lucie... they were resting above._

 _Cordelia... Alastair... faded into the past._

 _His place had never been here, not now, not a century after he should have passed from this life. His body had been suspended in time, but his heart had remained behind. Tessa was all that he had had left._

James Carstairs _, a man's deep voice echoed in his mind with a faint note of surprise._

 _Jem looked up tiredly and saw that he had missed the point at which the walls had changed to the familiar dark stone of the Silent City. A hooded figure had drawn up short under an ancient torch bracket outside one of the many archive rooms on the uppermost level of the city._

" _Brother Enoch," Jem whispered in a strangled rasp. He felt the familiar touch of a Brother on his mind and he opened himself to it, grateful that he did not need to find words to explain his need. It was gone moments later, and Enoch laid his runed and scarred hand on Jem's shoulder in quiet sympathy._

Wait here, _the Brother instructed him._

 _With no precedent for his situation, Jem had maintained a strange relationship with his old order. His reception was mixed; to some, he was a painful reminder of what they had sacrificed to join the Brotherhood. To others, though, Enoch among them, he was a source of hope and pride. He had served, and served well, and then been released as if by a miracle._

 _The search he had taken on with Tessa to locate Kit all those years ago had been greatly aided by the records of the Silent Brothers, and only Jem's connections had granted them access to the closed and locked files of Tobias Herondale and his sad story. Tessa had followed those threads into the Spiral Labyrinth, working her way down through the warlock Downworld to piece together the shattered line. No one else could have unravelled the mystery._

 _Enoch returned with a small bundle that had been neatly tied into a plain, unadorned parchment-coloured cloak. No runes banded the hem, and Jem accepted the parcel solemnly. Before letting go, the Silent Brother laid a silver whistle on a chain on top and Jem felt a flash of astonishment at the enormity of the gift._

Use it well, _Enoch bade knowingly as he faded back into the shadows of the catacombs._

 _Jem retraced his steps through the passages in a daze. He felt a lump rise in his throat as he came to terms with the contents of the bundle he had been given. This was really happening._

 _Back in the Herondale crypt once more, he carefully cut away the ruined gear from his wife's still body, the set too large for her when she no longer held Jace's form. He hardened himself against what he knew he would find when he pulled the jacket away and let the tears come._

 _He had been prepared for the terrible wound from Asmodeus' killing blow, but he wasn't ready when a jade pendant on a gold chain slipped free from the thin shirt underneath. He cradled it in his palm, his hand shaking, as the memories of a townhouse in Kensington roared through him. When he had first seen the pendant laid against the creamy skin below her throat as they lay together in a tangle of ripped orchid silk. He gasped for breath as his heart contracted in his chest. Never again._

 _The neatly-tied bundle from Brother Enoch spilled open in a cascade of white cotton when Jem cut the cord around it. A loose-fitting funeral dress covered Tessa delicately, his hands working instinctively as the part of him that had been Zachariah rose up to protect what was Jem. He felt like he was watching through a stranger's eyes, trapped behind an invisible wall and held spellbound as he prepared his wife's body for a Nephilim's final rite of passage._

 _Seeing he_ _r laid out in state in the tomb was hauntingly reminiscent of one of the many plays they had taken in together at London's famous Globe Theatre. A sad smile touched his lips as he looked down on her and quoted, "_ _Ah, dear Juliet, wh_ _y art thou yet so fair?Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous, and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?" He looked up at his parabatai's marker and shook his head. "Not that I mean to call you an abhorred monster, dearest Will. I think I shall stay a while longer."_

 _He withdrew one last piece from within the folds of the plain cloak that still cushioned a small urn, and he trailed a length of white silk through his fingers. He considered the long, dreary Latin recitations that typically preceded this final step and discarded them in favour of something he felt Tessa may have appreciated more. The lines from the Bard's greatest love story were a far more fitting farewell._

" _Eyes, look your last." He gently bound the white silk across her eyes in the Nephilim way._

" _Arms, take your last embrace." He lifted her cold hand in his own and leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers._

" _And, lips, O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death." The faint scent of rosewater soap clung to her as he pressed a soft kiss to her cool lips._

 _Hours passed as he stayed by her side, the sunlight shifting through the airy window above as it arced over and around the outside of the dome. The comforting silence of the tomb remained undisturbed as he kept his lonely vigil._

 _She looked so peaceful laying there. It seemed as if she only slept, and that if only he were to make a sound she would stir and push aside the silk blindfold to search for him. He could almost hear her voice calling to him, "Jem? Jem, is that you?" But it was only wishful thinking._

 _Long after night descended he levered himself to his feet. Only one thing remained. He carried her out of the Herondale crypt and bore her to the funeral pyres that served the necropolis. Thousands of Shadowhunters had passed from mortal shell to eternal rest here, even Valentine and Sebastian Morgenstern in the end, and he would not give her anything less than her due. She had been a wife, a mother, and so much more to so many Shadowhunters that she deserved this._

 _The fire burned hot and bright in the darkness of the cemetery and he watched with empty eyes as the flames consumed her. The fingers of his right hand traced along the edge of the jade pendant in his pocket as he stood silently, turning it over and over as he thought._

 _Where would he go now? Could he even bring himself to return to the others who had fought on Wrangel Island? Could he see them without shattering anew? Just the names of their ancestors had been enough to undo him earlier. Perhaps it was time to step away from the world once more, to take time to heal. He didn't know if he was ready to face the sympathy in Magnus' eyes yet, to see the sorrow that he would have shared with Tessa over Jem's death if fate had twisted differently._

 _He couldn't remember gathering her ashes in the darkest part of the night before dawn broke, but he knew that he must have managed it because he was standing in front of Will's marker once more with an urn in hand. The marble slab protested against being shifted open, but Jem was able to lay their wife to rest within the space behind it. When it was closed once more, he lifted his stele with a heavy hand._

Tessa Herondale Carstairs, 1862-2033.

Jem blinked at the black asphalt under his hands as he snapped back to the present. The driveway was painfully hot under the Nevada sun, and his hands came away with bits of grit and pebbles indented into his palms as he pushed himself up from where he had collapsed.

Perhaps it would have been more sensible to go back to Los Angeles – Emma would have taken him in without question. But the thought of bringing his grief into the life she had worked so hard to build felt selfish of him. She had already been through enough; did he have to burden her with his own troubles, too?

Magnus had vanished with his newly-discovered half-sister, the warlock who had channelled the power needed to erase the stain of the demonic ellipse on Wrangel Island. He was no doubt dealing with his loss in his own way, looking forward instead of back, and Jem didn't want to intrude on their budding relationship. Later, maybe, when they had both had time to adjust. But for now, he didn't really have anywhere to be, no one who needed him… until he had remembered Sera's mostly-Mundane friend. He didn't know who he was without Tessa, but he thought he might know where to start. He had lived without her as a Silent Brother once before; perhaps the familiar rhythm of that life could ease the pain.

That was how he had found himself outside a quiet bungalow in the burning August heat of Las Vegas. The boy had been collateral damage in the wake of Everett's short term in office, and he had been returned to his home as quickly as possible after they had Portalled to Alicante.

Jem steadied himself as he reached for the doorbell with the hand that held his dragon-headed sword cane. He heard the chime through the front door and waited patiently. This was a test, a chance to see if he could hold himself together in company. And if he couldn't… _Well, at least he won't have to see my face,_ Jem thought guiltily.

The door opened a few inches before drawing up short on the security chain, and Steven's pale face appeared in the gap. He was wearing dark blue board shorts and a white tank-top that read, 'LOVE IS BLIND.'

"Forgive me, " Jem began hesitantly, "I'm not sure if you'll remember me-"

Steven's expression lit up at once. "Oh, my God! Of course I remember that voice! How many guys do you think I let press on my groin and ask if it hurts?" He paused. "Don't answer that. Come in!" The door closed slightly and then the chain was released.

Jem followed Steven inside and trailed after him as the younger man made his way back to the kitchen. He took the proffered chair and sat down at the worn but well-kept table.

Steven reached into the fridge and closed his hand around a can on the door from memory. "Do you want a beer or anything?"

"Just water will be fine," Jem answered with the smallest of smiles as he remembered the _one_ and only time he had allowed Jace to take him out drinking. He sincerely regretted ever teaching him Will's demon pox song. _Will._ His smile guttered out.

Steven groped until he felt a bottle of water instead. "I should probably give you the heads up now, man, but I don't think my insurance covers house calls from doctors." He set the bottle down on the table.

"That's quite all right."

The youth sat down in the chair to Jem's left and cracked open his beer. "I never thought I'd see any of you guys again after that Alex guy came to give me The Talk about Not Talking. I mean, like not _see_ , but you know." He laughed and took a swig from the beer. "Ugh, _this_ is practically water. I bet that guy ripped me off again. I _told_ him Rickard's Red. Bastard."

Jem stayed silent, forgetting for a moment about his host's disability.

When he received no response, Steven gallantly tried to carry on the conversation. "I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty bummed when he said I had to keep quiet about all this Shadow World stuff. I was already thinking about writing this totally amazing series of books about Shadowhunters. I bet I could probably have gotten at least one movie out of it, maybe even a T.V show, too..." He sighed wistfully. "I mean, like, movies and shows are never as good as the books, but the _money._ I would have been _rich_."

With a half-hearted wave of his hand, Steven gestured to the room around them. "You can probably tell that the 'blind-seer' schtick doesn't pay very well, but it goes over well enough with the tourists around here, I guess."

"Your condition is not as rare as you might think," Jem said, lifting his head with interest in his eyes. Sera had mentioned her friend's gift only in the briefest of terms when she had been explaining what had happened to him. "The 'blind-seer' stereotype did not materialize by accident."

Steven frowned. "Are you saying I'm going to have competition on my turf? 'Cause it's a pretty small market and I don't need anyone else getting in on this action."

Jem surprised himself with a chuckle. "No, no, nothing like that. But the archives of the Silent City have many records of Mundanes with a touch of the Sight who have found themselves in your position." His tone took on a faint lecturing quality. "In these individuals, oft times the loss of their natural sight, either through age or injury, serves as a catalyst for their inner eye to open and develop instead."

"Oh, my actual God." Steven looked dumbstruck. "That's exactly how it happened. How do you know so much about this stuff? What's the Silent City? Does this mean I'm like you guys? I thought I was only joking about the mostly-Mundane thing."

It was hard to ignore the hopeful look on the young man's face, but Jem hesitated.

"I know, I know," Steven said in frustration. "No questions." He leaned forward, closer to his unexpected guest. "But if you were sitting in my place, wouldn't you ask anyway? If you had a taste of a world that was hidden from your own, if you found out that magic and demons and all the rest were real, could you just let it slip away?" Despair crept into his voice. "Could you keep smiling in a world where you no longer knew where you fit in?"

His words shook the Shadowhunter. He had never considered what it might be like for a Mundane to brush up against their world but never be allowed anything more. And he was quickly learning hat it was like to feel adrift. Perhaps his coming would only cause more pain.

"It would be no trouble to have a warlock wipe away your memories of our world," Jem offered gently. "I apologize-"

"No!" Steven's beer slopped over the rim of the can as his hands shot forward carelessly. He found Jem's wrist and closed his pale fingers around it. "No. That's what that other guy said, too. But if I can't remember it, then the world will be just as boring as it was before. And what if it meant losing my memories of Sera?" His breath hitched. "She's my best friend. My only friend, however sad that sounds."

The strength in the boy's grip was surprising. Jem made up his mind and decided to probe deeper. Maybe he _could_ do something for the boy.

"I imagine that she must show up as clear as day to you," he murmured. Steven relaxed his hold and grinned.

"Yeah, right from the minute she walked into my hospital room after the accident. It never mattered what kind of glamour she used around other people; I could always see her. I know it sounds kinda dumb now, but I she was always my angel. The doctors told me I'd never regain my sight, and then _bam_ – Sera. I was all like, ' _Oh, no! I can only see this smoking-hot chick forever!'_ " He laughed to himself. "But seriously. She's the one who helped me out, kept me going, started teaching me a little bit about the crappy visions I was getting even then. I think I'd be in the nuthouse by now if it wasn't for her, talking about seeing things no one else could see while I'm walking around with a white cane."

"Little wonder that she kept herself hidden for so long," Jem mused to himself. If he was right about Steven's Sight, then any Silent Brother would have been able to recognize her for what she was. "There's a chance, just a chance, that I may be able to help you develop your Sight. The Silent Brothers do not see with their eyes, but with their minds, and much of that talent is learned through mental training. I could not bear their strongest runes when I was of their order, could not have my eyes or mouth stitched shut, but I learned to speak as they spoke and see as they saw."

"Stitched. Shut. What the actual fu-" Steven gaped at him. "What the hell is a Silent Brother?"

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Jem told himself as he began explaining as much as he dared about the Brotherhood.

It was oddly... cathartic... to speak to the strange, mostly-Mundane boy as he completed a cursory exam to ensure that he was recovering well from Everett's abuse. He had no expectations of Jem, did not even know about Tessa, could not ask the questions that the Shadowhunter was not yet ready to face. His boundless enthusiasm for the Shadow World was impossible to resist, and Jem felt his spirits slowly lifting. He found that he was no longer particularly concerned about obeying Clave law. What more could they possibly take from him?

"So you really think you can teach me to do it?" Steven asked excitedly.

"It will take dedication and patience, but I believe it's possible."

Steven lifted his beer in salute and grinned from ear to ear. "This is going to be amazing! Cheers, man!" Jem held up his water bottle congenially and tapped it against the can of what was clearly Coors Light.

The boy's smile faded a bit after he drained what was left of his drink. "Do you think Sera's still allowed to come see me? I haven't heard anything from her since that night. Is she doing okay?"

Shame washed through Jem. He had stayed well clear of anyone who might remind him of his loss or ask about Tessa. He knew that a wedding was probably going to happen or had happened already, but nothing more.

"I... haven't spoken to her," he answered slowly, "or anyone since... that night."

Steven caught the change in his guest's voice immediately and sat back in his chair. "Did something...? Do you need to talk?"

Jem's vision blurred and he felt the pinching ache in his chest return. "I lost... someone..." He exhaled slowly as a pair of tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes and traced shining lines down his face. "I can't."

"It's okay," Steven answered quietly. "You don't have to."

The hum of the refrigerator and the occasional passing car outside were the only noises that disturbed the silence that fell between the two men as Jem struggled to regain control.

Steven waited patiently, instinctively sensing the depth of whatever loss the man next to him had suffered. He would give the Shadowhunter as much time and space as he needed. Maybe this teaching thing would be good for both of them. A distraction for Jem. A way to cling to the edge of a world he was desperate not to lose for himself. _Win-win._

When enough time had passed, Steven cleared his throat.

"Do you think that if I get the hang of your Jedi mind-trick that I'll... that I'll be allowed to see Sera again? That I wouldn't have to stay shut out of your world? Could you take me to Idris?"

Jem thought about it carefully. Teaching the boy privately here, in the Mundane world, was easy enough to mask from the Clave. But bringing him to Idris... A second voice argued inside Jem's mind, _But he's got some form of Sight. He's only_ mostly _-mundane._ If he didn't know better, he would almost have said it sounded like Will. The corner of his mouth turned up for a moment.

 _But seeing everyone again..._

For a moment he was taken back in time once more, and it was as if he were looking into Will's blue eyes again, only now his parabatai stole the words Jem had once spoke to him all those years ago. _There's more to living than not dying._

Jem squeezed his eyes shut. _Thank you, Will._

He looked back at where Steven was waiting patiently.

"I will."

 _**Author's note:_

 _fanfiction-net readers: I am **SO** sorry. I completely didn't realize that I didn't do the double-post last time to get Ch 7 up after I put it on Wattpad. It was so late; I completely derped out._


	8. Chapter 8

_**8**_

Seraphine eyed the swaying rope bridge ahead of her doubtfully and then mentally calculated the drop into the great, green maw of rainforest jungle below.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure this is necessary?" She asked her overly-enthusiastic travelling companion.

Magnus bounded ahead of her onto the rickety slats that had not yet been eaten away by the humid climate. He turned around with a wide grin under the brim of the worn, brown fedora he had dug up for the occasion. "This is the _best_ part! Come on!" The vivacious warlock flitted across the bridge, his dark leather pack bouncing on his back. When he had reached the other side, he spun around to check her progress and saw that she was still standing on the other side. "It's _fine!_ "

She rolled her eyes, the red rings around her irises gleaming dully, and took a deep breath before carefully stepping out and getting a death-grip on the fraying rope sides. _Fraying rope. Lovely._

Magnus still hadn't told her why they had needed to fly to Bolivia as the next part of their search for answers, and he was staying uncharacteristically silent on the matter. She would have been quite content to pursue their quest to the Spiral Labyrinth as she had originally intended, although she hadn't been there in decades, but he had asked that they leave it as a last resort. Personally, she would have preferred that they left the _four-day trek through the jungle_ as their last resort, but she suspected that he wanted to avoid facing the warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth a while longer, and perhaps their connections to Tessa.

Half-way across, she made the mistake of looking down instead of keeping her eyes trained on the tan shirt and rugged khakis that her half-brother was wearing in his very best imitation of Indiana Jones. The view was dizzying, and she felt herself sway in response. Living on the 22nd floor of a comfortable, Toronto condo had not prepared her for this. She panted lightly and felt herself start to sweat.

The humidity added to her light-headedness and she felt a flash of heat shoot through her like...

 _Oh, no._

"Magnus!" She screamed. "It's happening again!"

Heedless of rotting boards, the deteriorating ropes, and the staggering drop, she threw herself forward and raced across the remaining distance as the feverish rush building inside of her took hold.

Magnus' hands came up, fingers crooked, and a look of intense concentration drew his brow into a crease. Seraphine's hiking boots touched down on solid ground once more for only a second before she cried out again and a torrent of flames burst out from her body in a deadly fan.

The fire rolled back in on itself as it encountered the protective shield Magnus had woven, and Seraphine vanished from sight when the brilliant globe of light consumed her. The earth rumbled under their feet in response, and the canopy swayed overhead as the currents of magic warped the air around them. As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

Seraphine gasped in half a breath and then promptly launched into a coughing fit when Magnus dropped the shield. He knelt down at her side and held her as she leaned into him for support.

"It's getting worse," she wheezed.

"Now, now," he said soothingly as he patted her back, "don't worry yet. We still have time."

She hacked indelicately in response and dabbed at the tears in the corners of her eyes. "And when, exactly, do you propose I should start worrying? Before or after I've melted my flat?"

Magnus tapped his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "After. Definitely after."

With a huff of disapproval, Seraphine struggled back up to her feet and dusted off her toffee-coloured denim pants. At least these... _attacks_... were sparing her the indignity of burning off her clothing. She didn't think she could have abided them otherwise.

"I just don't understand it," she sighed. "I thought I was perfectly fine, aside from my eyes making me look even more like some silly girl from an anime comic than I already did, and then I got home from the wedding... and..." Seraphine shrugged helplessly, at a loss for words for what had happened in her condo.

"It's a blessing in disguise, really," Magnus answered cheerfully, "your neighbours _needed_ to redecorate. Did you _see_ that wallpaper? Absolutely appalling."

Seraphine stuck her tongue out at his back as he pushed his way back into the jungle and disdained to use the trail that bent away to the north. "Yes, well, it's all well and good to patch up a charbroiled wall or two in a pinch when no one's around, but it's barely been a week since I left Idris and I seem to have already progressed to spontaneous combustion. If I didn't have you around to contain the damage, I may as well keep the fire brigade on speed dial!" She paused for a moment to consider the potential visual benefits of that arrangement. "Come to think of it... I'd actually quite like that. Perhaps we should try that when we get home."

Ahead of her, Magnus was laughing quietly to himself. He looked over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. "I wholeheartedly support this plan. I mean, it couldn't hurt to be cautious..."

They moved deeper into the wilds in relative silence as they concentrated on navigating their way down a steep gully and then followed the water downstream. The sun made its slow progress overhead as more clouds rolled in to signal the beginning of yet another downpour. Seraphine ran one of her hands back through her sagging and frizzing black curls, disheartened. She quietly glowered at the perfectly-coiffed wave that her brother was somehow maintaining.

"You still haven't told me exactly why we're in Bolivia." She paused to drink from the canteen clipped to her belt and made a face at the lukewarm water.

"That's because I don't want _anyone_ to overhear why. And technically we're in Peru now that we've crossed that gully back there." He thumbed absently back the way they had come.

She gestured to the towering trees dripping with hanging creepers and festooned with moss. Shrill cries from unseen birds echoed all around them along with the ever-present quiet hum of insects. "Peru? We've been trekking through the rainforest for _four_ days like Mundanes-"

"Indeed," Magnus cut in, eyeing the greenery skeptically. "We still might not be far enough."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She started to throw her arms up, but he caught her hand. His eyes were serious.

"Yes, precisely," he said quietly.

Seraphine folded her arms and cocked her head to one side. "What's out here, Magnus?"

He let out a heavy sigh and fiddled with the cap of his own canteen. "I'm sure you've head of the lost Book of the White?"

Seraphine frowned. "Of course, although I don't believe you can still call it the 'lost' book when _you_ were the one who found it and turned it in to the Spiral Labyrinth."

Magnus waved his hand dismissively. "Clary was actually the one who found it; I merely provided a bit of...motivation. I didn't see the need to explain that a sixteen-year-old girl had, however briefly, possessed that book." He looked aggrieved. "I might have been able to hang on to it if it hadn't become common knowledge that I used it to craft the draught that woke Jocelyn. Retrospectively, I really should have asked them to not to be _quite_ so forthcoming about that little bit of magic."

She clicked her tongue sympathetically. "It must have been a wrench, giving up that book. But it _does_ mean that that's not what we're all the way out here for."

"Ah, well, yes." A flash of embarrassment crossed his face and he tried to give her a winning smile. "It _did_ however make me a bit more curious about some of our other, ah, more _infamous_ writings."

An incredulous laugh slipped out of Seraphine's delicate lips. "Like _what?_ The Red Scrolls of Magic?" She giggled to herself for a moment before shaking a finger at him. "It was damn good that we got those back before they were destroyed..." she trailed off and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Did you have something to do with that?"

Arranging his features into a carefully neutral expression, Magnus gave her a blank look. "Officially-speaking, I can neither confirm nor deny any involvement with the recovery of the Red Scrolls," he recited stiffly before winking and dropping his voice to a stage whisper, "But unofficially..."

Seraphine gasped. "That was _you!?_ But I thought..." She put her hand to her head as another wave of dizziness threatened, but the fire did not accompany it this time.

"Shh," he teased. "I swear, the full story is a gripping tale, filled with excitement and adventure, a dashingly handsome male lead, and a lot of close calls, but I can't tell you yet."

She lifted her eyebrow challengingly. "When, then?"

"Give it a few years."

"Ugh," she sighed, "how lucky can you get? The Book of the White _and_ the Red Scrolls? Most warlocks would _kill_ just to _touch_ one of them! Next you're going to tell me you've gone and dug up the Black Volume of the Dead from wherever the hell it went missing!" She puffed out a breath at one of her curls going rogue in the humidity.

Magnus remained ominously quiet.

She stared back at him. "You did not."

"You can appreciate now why I wanted at least four days of jungle between us and the rest of the world before we talked about this," he said apologetically as he continued following what might have been an animal run.

"I absolutely refuse to believe that even _you_ would be that foolish, Magnus Bane."

A light mist of rain started to fall as the leading edge of the weather system grazed them. Magnus rubbed a combination of precipitation and sweat from his face and held up his hand as if to ward off whatever other insults she had brewing. She was slightly furious to see that not a lick of his eyeliner had smudged. _Unbelievable._

"Look, ordinarily, I would never admit this to anyone besides Alec, but I didn't really understand the enormity of what I was doing when I went hunting for that Volume after what happened in Los Angeles. By the time it had become _abundantly_ clear what we were on to, it was too late to turn back. We weren't the only ones looking for it, okay?"

Seraphine blinked in surprise. "Goodness, were there _two_ warlocks utterly lacking in common sense? How dreadful."

"Oh, ha ha," Magnus replied sarcastically with half a grin. "It was my fault that anyone else even got a lead on the book, and once they started following the threads that I had unravelled, it became a race to the finish line." He turned his unusual eyes downward and lowered his voice. "I very nearly got Alec killed trying to keep that book out of the wrong hands."

She laid her small hand on his arm lightly. "But you both made it through. What happened after?"

He sighed in response. "Despite our best efforts, there were a few whispers in Downworld that I had found it, and I knew that it was far too dangerous to palm it back to the Spiral Labyrinth as an anonymous donation the way I had with the Red Scrolls. It had to go back to being hidden where no one without _un_ common sense could ever find it. Alec's career was just starting to take off back then and we were about to move our family to Alicante permanently. It was convenient timing; anyone trying to break into our home, or later, the Consul's home, to look for the book would have a hard time of it in the city of the Nephilim."

Seraphine gasped. "But the Consul's home burned to the ground! You didn't- It's not-"

"No, no," he said reassuringly. "I could never keep something like that near the kids. It needed to be _far_ away from the living." He reached forward and pulled back a dense mass of glistening fronds dramatically while he held her gaze. "Here."

Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Magnus, love, what am I supposed to be looking at?"

"Hmm?" He looked out beyond the fronds and saw only another wall of green. "Ah, right. Sorry." He waded forward, holding back the first bit with his knees as he gathered up another armful of vegetation. Magnus peeked through and nodded to himself. " _Here._ "

Crumbling stones weathered by age and the elements pushed out of the ground like broken teeth in two long lines that led toward the outline of ancient ruins slowly being reclaimed by the jungle. The glyphs and runes carved into the eroding rock faces were barely visible, but they tugged at Seraphine familiarly. She glided forward, entranced.

"What _is_ this place?" She breathed.

"Say what you want about the Old Ones, but they knew how to cast their shielding spells. I think it used to be an oubliette." He paused and shrugged. "I guess it still is, really. It was a real pain trying to find one in Peru, but it was a regrettable necessity to enhance the gambit."

She threw a sideways glance at him as she knelt down for a closer look at the first stone along the pathway. "Does this have anything to do with why you got banned from Peru in the first place?"

Magnus scoffed, "Not at all. Completely unrelated incident, which absolutely _everyone_ seems to have heard about, I might add." He shook his head ruefully. "But it serves its purpose now, because everyone _knows_ I'm not supposed to put a toe over the border, so how could I have _possibly_ hidden the Black Volume here?"

"You... no." Seraphine paused in her examination of what was clearly one of the spell-binding keystones for the oubliette below. The red rings around her irises seemed to flare when she glared up at him and hissed, "Are you telling me that you are relying on... on..." she groped for the right word.

"Misdirection?" Magnus supplied helpfully.

"... _misdirection_ to hide one of the most powerful spellbooks in the world?!"

"Well, yes..." He saw her eyes begin to smoulder and took a step back. "And don't forget about the ancient shields. And remote location." He looked from side to side nervously. "And spiders. Big ones."

Her furious stare melted into wariness and cooled. "Spiders?"

"You'll think we've gone to Australia," he said in the most reassuringly un-assuring way.

Seraphine rubbed her temples with her fingers and pressed gently on her eyelids to ease some of the heat. "You know, I can't even tell if you're taking the mickey anymore."

Magnus grinned. "What are big brothers for? And you've got a little something..." he touched just under his own eye to indicate where. She rubbed at the spot automatically and clenched her teeth when her fingers came away streaked with eyeliner.

It was somewhere between scowling and strategic wiping that she saw the crack in his façade, and the pain he was concealing behind the smiling, joking mask.

"I can't replace her," she said quietly.

His grin faded and he sobered for a moment. "I would never expect you to." He whirled around on his heel and stared intently at the stones that led up toward what looked like it might have been a temple at some point. "Ah, here we are."

With an almighty wrench, he heaved at the marker.

It refused to budge.

"Hmm. Nope. Not that one." He moved on to the next one and crouched down to put his shoulder against it. His tomb-raiding boots dug into the ground that had been softened by frequent rains as he strained. "I was pretty sure it might have been this one," he panted after a few seconds of shoving. He threw a withering glance at her. "Well, don't just sit there. One of these triggers the entrance."

She recognized the evasion for what it was at left the sensitive topic alone. He would talk about it when he was ready, and not before. The keystone under her hand seemed to thrum and she traced the outline of the faded glyph etched into its face. _Its like something out of a dream..._

Magnus managed to overturn the third stone with no evident results and was pushing against the fourth with his back when she rose from her crouch. She let her gaze wander across the increasingly-slick stones as the rain began to come down harder. Her cat ears wilted a bit in response to the dampness.

"Tramping through the jungle for four days just to turn over some rocks..." she muttered under her breath. "I don't supposed you can speed this up with a bit of..." she wiggled her fingers suggestively.

"Not until we're down below the shields," he puffed. "Especially not me. Now that we've crossed the border, by thoroughly _Mundane_ means," he said with a wink, "I can't use magic until we get underground. So don't blow up any time soon unless you want to meet the Peruvians."

"So why can't _I_ use magic?"

"Because we don't want _anything_ to be drawn even _remotely_ in this direction. That's the _point_ of misdirection, sweet pea."

She gave him a dark look. "Don't call me that."

"Forgive me. Old habits die hard in this country."

A smaller, narrower pillar on the left side of the path felt... _different_... and she felt herself drawn toward it. She touched one of the glyphs gently and the entire thing shifted backwards on a hidden hinge. A section of the path rumbled as it lowered down on one side to create a ramp that led down into darkness.

Magnus froze with his legs splayed where it looked like he had been trying to dead-lift the fifth stone on the right side. He gaped at her. "Beginner's luck."

Seraphine slipped down into the opening. The light from above was just enough to reveal a small bundle of torches leaning up against the wall. She looked back up the ramp at Magnus. "Well this is friendly, don't you think? Awfully nice of them to leave these here – it's almost like they _want_ people to come and raid the place. Honestly." She shook her head.

Magnus snorted. " _I_ left those there. You wouldn't believe how much trouble it is to get to the main chamber without a reliable source of light." He slung his pack down to one shoulder and rummaged through it until he came up with a magnesium striker kit. "That's what this is for."

After lighting a pair of torches and tying the rest to their packs, they moved deeper into the passage and left daylight behind. The air was musty and slightly stale, undisturbed for years. Seraphine struggled not to look up and silently cursed her brother for even _mentioning_ spiders. Her ears twitched in annoyance and she felt something touch them.

She yelped and slapped at her hair, instinctively darting forward to get away from whatever it was. Magnus managed to grab her hand and tug her backwards just in time. With a grating clunk, a massive blade dropped out of the ceiling and swung across the tunnel.

"Mind the giant, swinging scythe of death," Magnus murmured.

Still swatting at her curls and not entirely convinced that it _hadn't_ been a giant spider, Seraphine stopped short of the weapon's path and snatched her hand back. "You just _had_ to say 'spiders', didn't you?"

"You don't have any spiders in your hair," he solemnly swore as they waited for the trap's momentum to slow.

When it had fallen still, they stepped past it. Seraphine watched in awe as it drew itself back up into its hidden compartment in the ceiling. She squinted at where it had vanished, but couldn't make out anything.

"Was that a recursive casting? It's stunningly well-cast, really."

"Not mine," Magnus answered wistfully. He rapped his knuckles against the unintelligible markings on the stones that made up the walls of the tunnel. "A bunch of the original spells on this place were still active, and I didn't see any reason to remove them. They're quite good, considering how old they are."

"Are there any more of _those_?" She asked, jerking her head back at the concealed scythe.

"A few," he admitted, unscrewing the cap of his canteen to take a drink in the dryness of the passage. "But not until after the spike pits."

"Naturally," Seraphine agreed lightly. "I don't suppose we'll be running from any abnormally large, rolling boulders, will we? I haven't packed my trainers."

"Not this time."

"Pity."

After avoiding the aforementioned spike pits, additional scythes, and a surprisingly complex arrow-slit room that Magnus conveniently forgot to mention, Seraphine had had quite enough of the ancient recursive spells that allowed them to reset each time, brilliantly-cast or not.

"Do any of those traps _ever_ manage to stop anyone?" She huffed in annoyance as they cleared the last of the snares and moved into a much more open room.

"I think I saw a skeleton in the spike pit," Magnus offered.

"Probably already died of boredom when they threw him in there as set-dressing," she said dryly.

Magnus touched his torch to a groove that ran around the perimeter of the room and fire raced through the trough in a dazzling display that immediately lit up the rest of the chamber. Seraphine's eyes widened.

It was completely empty.

" _Tell_ me that this is intentional," she said weakly.

"It's intentional." Magnus dispelled the invisibility around a stone lectern near the back of the room.

Seraphine relaxed for a moment before casting a suspicious look at him. "Dare I ask what was in here before you appropriated the room?"

His teeth gleamed in a Cheshire grin. "I never loot and tell."

They crossed the interlocking-stone floor and stood in front of the lectern together. The air felt heavier as they got closer, and Seraphine felt a thrill of excitement when she saw the jet-black cover of the tome that looked completely untouched by the millennia that had passed since it had been created.

Without taking her eyes off the book, Seraphine whispered, "You're certain it's safe here?"

Magnus made a noise of assent in response. "I may have also... ah... appropriated... the key signature of this place when I chose it." Seraphine's eyebrows rose in response, impressed, as he continued, "I wouldn't recommend coming back here without me. It would be _very_ messy."

"Duly noted."

He gestured down at the Volume. "Shall we?"

"Do let's."

Seraphine let her fingers trail over the cover for a moment to appreciate the enormity of what even standing in the same room with the book meant. She stared down at the Volume, mesmerized. _So powerful..._ The flames around the edge of the room seemed to grow brighter in response.

"Funny." Magnus frowned, masking his surprise. "It never does that for _me._ "

"Maybe it just prefers a woman's touch," she answered airily. She flipped back the cover and they both sucked in a breath in anticipation.

Nothing.

The ancient pages turned smoothly under Seraphine's light touch, flexing as if they had only been bound yesterday. There was no trace of the salt-water damage that should have been caused from being swept out into the Pacific Ocean. Inside, she had expected perhaps some rudimentary sketching alongside cramped writing, but what was there was unlike anything she had ever seen.

The lines of the drawings were clean and precise, every detail perfectly rendered and clearly shown. They were so lifelike that it seemed as though they would leap right off the page if she desired. There wasn't any discernible order or table of contents, nothing to help them narrow down their search, but she found herself caring less and less as her eyes roamed across the pages. She paused on a section that outlined what appeared to be some sort of necromancy spell that would allow a warlock to bring someone back from the dead, _truly_ bring them back, with their mind and personality intact. An illustration on the left-hand page showed a body that had been burned and soaked, and it was carved all over with markings that would call to the underworld and draw its previous inhabitant back from beyond the veil. Seraphine's lips parted in awe as she read.

Magnus let out an exasperated sigh next to her. "Translating all of this is going to be a disaster. It could take _months_ to be able to read anything-"

Seraphine blinked and tried to drag her eyes away from the page and asked distractedly, "What are you talking about?"

"This!" He jabbed his finger at the page opposite of the drawing. "This language has been dead for over 3,000 years, give or take a century. But I brought a notebook," he added energetically, "so that we could copy down anything that looked promising and start working..."

She tuned out his rambling as he dug around in his pack for something with which to write. She squinted at the page curiously. It was fine, even if necromancy wasn't _precisely_ what they were looking for at the moment.

"... I mean, it was always Tess-" he broke off mid-sentence and swallowed before starting again. "It was always Tessa who was the linguist in our little band of misfits." Magnus shook his head as if to dismiss the stab of pain that came with remembering his friend, and he forced his voice to pick up speed again. "But I'm sure that if we take what we can to the Labyrinth in pieces, and keep switching which acolytes we ask to help with the referencing, we can keep anyone from suspecting what the source-"

"Magnus. Magnus!" Seraphine cut him off. "Why are you going on about translating? It's as plain as day."

His cat-slitted eyes gave her an inscrutable look and he cocked his head slowly to one side. "What does it say?"

She turned her hell-touched eyes back down to the page and skimmed down to where he had left his finger pointing to a section. "It's a spell for raising the dead, but a damn good one, not like those shambling zombies that you'll typically get with necromancy. Yada, yada, yada, no surprise that this one needs to be done at a ley line convergence..." She swept down past the basic description of the ritual to the material components required and gasped in spite of herself. "Thirteen Hands of Glory! How on earth would you ever get that many?" Her curls shook as she shuddered in disgust.

"I can think of a way," Magnus said darkly as he recognized the spell. He lifted his finger and flipped ahead in the book randomly, anything to avoid seeing the drawing of the carved cadaver and calling up bad memories. He didn't want to see _that_ face ever again.

"Oh!" She glanced at the new page and clapped her hands together. " _Look_ at this!" Her eyes zipped across the even lines of script that Magnus couldn't even recognize and he felt his heart sink. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and ran between his shoulder blades. _Is it getting hotter in here?_ He surreptitiously glanced sideways at the line of fire that lit the room.

The twisting licks of fire were writhing sinuously from where they were tethered in the trough along the wall, curling and curving with pleasure as Seraphine continued to plow through the page she was reading. An almost audible purr of pleasure hummed through the chamber, and Magnus wasn't sure if he was more afraid that it might be coming from his sister or from somewhere else entirely. _Or some_ thing _else entirely,_ he amended worriedly.

"Seraphine," he whispered, trying to attract her attention while keeping an eye on the flames. His sixth, seventh, and eighth senses were all tingling in warning.

"Mmm?" She didn't look up.

"Seraphine." He kept his voice low. "I think you need to stop for a bit."

"But we've only just gotten here," she mumbled in protest. Her eyes flicked up to the top of the next page.

"Seraphine!"

"What?" She hissed back, finally breaking eye-contact with the book to glare at him.

The red irises that had appeared after the events on Wrangel Island were completely filled in with scarlet. Magnus resisted the natural urge to take a step back from his sister's fierce stare.

"We're leaving." He slammed the Volume shut and grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the lectern while he fought off the panic that was rising inside him. _This was a mistake._

"Magnus!" She screamed in fury and tried to jerk her hand back out his grip. "What are you doing? Let me go!" Her tail swished angrily.

Magnus' eyes filled with sadness. "Hate me for this later, okay?"

A blue flare of magic ignited from the hand that held her and she collapsed limply to the stone floor. He scooped up her small frame in his arms with a sigh.

"Sorry, little sister."

The faintly-sterile smell of bleach brought Seraphine back from the darkness of her unconsciousness. Her head felt heavy, like it was stuffed with lead-soaked cotton balls and she had to try hard to focus enough to open her eyes to a room lit with soft white light from frosted sconces on the walls.

"See? Just like I told you," a bored voice intoned. The blue-skinned female warlock standing at the end of what looked like an infirmary bed shoved the clipboard she was holding into Magnus' chest with a huff. "She'll be fine to get up in a few minutes. Call me when you actually have a problem, okay?" She popped her gum. "And I'm billing you for the Portals, by the way. I had to miss half a shift at the hospital to come get you."

Magnus didn't take his eyes off Seraphine as she slowly became more aware of her surroundings. "Put it on my tab," he advised.

"Mmhmm, whatever you say." Catarina Loss walked out of the room without a backward glance. The expensive-looking mahogany wood of the archway over the door was stamped with a stylized spiral that Seraphine was surprised to see. The pale-yellow walls and the complete lack of windows suddenly made perfect sense.

"Are we in..." she started to ask, struggling to sit up.

"Yes," Magnus answered simply.

Seraphine let her head fall back into the soft pillow and exhaled. "What happened?"

Her brother hesitated over his answer just a little too long, causing her to sigh.

"If you're going to lie to me, could you at least have it involve something naughty with that fire brigade we discussed? I'd prefer to have exciting lies over boring ones, if you please."

"I wasn't going to lie-"

"Yes, you were, _and_ you just did," Seraphine fumed. "I wouldn't recommend going for a third strike right now. Now tell me what happened." Her pupils hadn't returned to black from the vivid scarlet they had been in the oubliette, and Magnus wilted a little under the hard look she gave him while she strained to remember.

Her eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed. "Did. You. Knock. Me. Out?"

Magnus grinned sheepishly, hoping to diffuse her growing temper. "A little. The real problem was actually the bit of root I gave you to _keep_ you out while I got us far enough away from there to risk sending for help. I, ah, might have overdone it a bit."

She looked daggers at him and he hastened to continue. "A Portal made by me would have brought the Peruvians down on us in a heartbeat, but I thought it was safe enough to send a fire message to my friend Catarina. No one's tracking _her_ magic use in Peru, and she owes me a few favours." He paused to think about it. "Or maybe I owe _her_ a few... I can't remember."

"Your paranoia knows no bounds," Seraphine said witheringly.

He gave her a significant look. "I refuse to discuss the issue without the requisite four days of jungle as a buffer."

She threw her hands up. "So then it was all for nothing?"

"No," he answered quickly. "Not nothing. Now we know exactly what _not_ to do, and sometimes that can be just as useful. It gives us something to work with." He sounded slightly desperate to make sure the trip had counted for something. He blamed himself for what had happened to her, but he couldn't dwell on the past. "I'm so sorry."

"What are you banging on about?" She pushed herself up onto one elbow. "I feel just peachy. Better already. Stop beating yoursel-"

Magnus held up a silver-backed hand mirror that had been laying face-down on the bedside table and she yelped in surprise when she saw the scarlet pupils inside of her already-transformed irises.

"Whatever this is," Magnus said gently, "it's progressive. If we can't find a cure, or a counterspell, or _something_ to slow it... Well, I think we can both agree that we need to at least _not_ do anything to speed it up while we look."

The small warlock threw back the covers and slid out of bed, her tail bristling with annoyance. She couldn't recall everything that had happened after going underground, but she could remember feeling _alive._ "It's not for _you_ to decide what's right or wrong for _me_ , Magnus Bane!"

She felt a flush go through her body as she stalked out of the infirmary and into the plushly-carpeted hallway beyond. The rich layer under the stockinged feet seemed to absorb sound, and there was a pleasantly quiet stillness in the air. Seraphine blew past ageing tapestries set alongside niches tastefully displaying priceless artifacts of magical lore. She didn't spare a glance upward at the glittering crystal chandeliers that glowed softly without flames or electricity, their power imbued using spells woven by novices as they trained in the levels below. The wall on her left curved away gradually, uninterrupted by the doors that dotted the right side of the hallway.

"Seraphine," Magnus called after her. "Seraphine!"

A very offended-looking warlock poked his head out of one of the many doors. "Shhhhhh-" His eyes bulged when he recognized Magnus and the door promptly slammed shut.

"Oh, great," Magnus muttered to himself. He broke into a run to close the distance between himself and his sister, and he managed to snag the back of her shirt before she reached the large opening on the left ahead.

"Look, I'm sorry! I'm just... I'm trying..." He was shocked to feel tears sting the corners of his eyes, and he blinked them away rapidly. "I couldn't..." Cracks opened in the cheerful mask he wore, and his voice dropped down to a whisper, "I wasn't there for her, Seraphine," he confessed, "and I just want to be here for you."

She felt herself soften when she saw the vulnerability he usually worked so hard to conceal. It was bloody hard to stay mad at him. "Then _be_ here for me," she coaxed. "But we're going to have to work _together_. You can't always be in control."

He squeezed his eyes shut. "I think... I'm starting to learn that."

Seraphine nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, come along." It was her turn to grab his arm, and she tugged him forward until they drew level with the opening that gave way to a winding staircase that led up on their left and down on their right. She stroked the polished wooden balustrade lovingly and looked over the edge.

A vast, vertical shaft of gleaming bookcases dropped away below until its depths were lost, and the wide, spiralling walkway that climbed the wall behind artistically-styled iron banister spindles continued upward as far as she could see. Every abutment had been expertly carved over the long centuries, lending a grand elegance to each level as it had spiralled deeper and deeper. Glowing globes of yellow-gold light floated lazily near the shelves, illuminating the spines of thousands upon thousands of books that rested in the care of the warlocks of the Spiral Labyrinth. Hallways stretched back from the nexus and wound their way outward to other, smaller repositories carved into the earth and ether that made up the unique plane in which the fabled library was hidden. It was impossible to guess how much knowledge had been collected over the centuries upon centuries that had passed since the earliest levels had first opened.

Unable to help himself, Magnus gaped for a moment. He had only been here a few times before, and rarely for the right reasons, so it was still a wonder, even to him. Then he came to his senses and tried to turn them back the way they had come.

"Ah..." He tittered nervously. "It might not be the best idea for me to be seen in the Central Spire just yet..."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Traditional education was never really my style." He shrugged. "I was more of a study abroad, foreign credits kind of-" A shadow fell over both of them.

"Magnus. Bane."

A female's authoritative voice cut short whatever else he was going to say. Seraphine turned around and gulped when she saw the severe-looking woman with long grey hair drawn back into a bun that probably hadn't been unwound in a few centuries if the sour expression on her face was any indication.

Magnus gave her his very best smile and swept the fedora off his head in a grand bow to the grim matron. _Oh, boy._

"At your service, Madame."


	9. Chapter 9

_**9**_

Aspen forced herself to breathe naturally even though her heart was trying to pound its way out of her chest as she laid on her back, staring up at the night sky. _Just be cool, Herondale._ She casually wiggled a bit, pretending to get more comfortable on one of the white sheets she had swiped from the manor as she edged closer to the boy laying next to her.

Tea lights flickered dimly in cut crystal tumblers she had 'borrowed' from a cabinet filled with tableware and glasses, and she wondered idly how hard it would be to get any errant wax out of them before Sera and Rayce noticed. The dozen or so candles circled their patch of grass near the edge of the Morgenstern property on a small rise that faced west and overlooked a bit of the apple orchard that had grown wild during the decades the manor had lain dormant. She felt _slightly_ smug about finding a bag of the tea lights on a sideboard earlier in the evening. She told herself that it was a clear sign that some higher power _wanted_ her date to go well.

 _Date._ A flutter went through her stomach.

"...and that's Andromeda," Lucas said as he pointed at a constellation overhead, the stars unbelievably clear in Idris as they could never be in Santa Barbara. "She was the daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia. Her mom bragged about being more beautiful than the sea nymphs, which pissed off Poseidon. He sent the giant sea monster, Cetus, to flood their lands, and then some oracles told the King that he had to sacrifice his daughter to the beast to stop the devastation."

"That sucks," Aspen commented, trying to bring herself back into the present and _out_ of her daydreams. "Why do the daughters always get screwed in these stories?"

Lucas laughed and it sent a thrill through her. Guys were _not_ supposed to have that kind of low, throaty laugh. It wasn't fair. Why didn't he sound like an idiot, like Hunter?

"Actually, it works out pretty well for her." He rolled over onto his elbows and the candlelight played off one side of his face, drawing out his gorgeous colouring. "She gets rescued by a hero named Perseus and they get married. Happily ever after."

 _Yes, please._

She tried to stay focused. "Do you have a favourite?"

He bit his lip while he thought and Aspen screamed internally.

"Yeah, I think so. But you can't really see it from here at this time of year. I know the 'real' story for it, but I think I like the one my dad told me better. It's for the Gemini constellation." He picked at some crumbs that had fallen on the sheet from their late-night dessert, pilfered cheesecake. Aspen fleetingly wondered how badly Sera was going to murder her for swiping the leftovers. _Pay attention!_ "If you read the Greek story, it says it was named for the famous twins, Castor and Pollux. When Castor died as a mortal, Pollux begged Zeus to give him immortality, and so they were united in the Heavens forever."

Aspen rolled up to her elbows as well so that their shoulders were nearly touching. "What's your dad's version?"

"He says the one he learned was older than the Greek story. He said it was about the Great Twins, Meshlamtaea and Lugalirra, which meant 'The One Who Has Arisen From The Underworld' and 'The Mighty King'. It's kinda long, but the gist of it is that their people are threatened by a terrible sickness of the land, and Meshlamtaea volunteers to sacrifice himself to end their suffering by cleansing the earth with his immortal blood. Lugalirra cannot bear to let him go, and secretly takes his place so that his brother can live."

Her eyes drank in the lines of his face and the curve of his shoulder in the muscle shirt he was wearing. He wasn't stacked like Hunter, but she was _definitely_ appreciative of his runner's build. _Further on the topic of things that aren't fair, why does he have to be so deep?_

Electing not to ask her unspoken question in exactly those words, Aspen blinked and tried not to wonder if her mouth was hanging open or not. "How do you know so much about this stuff?"

In response, Lucas grinned sheepishly. "My dad. He tells us all these stories; I guess now I know where the 'older' stories come from." He ran a hand back through his black hair, spiking up the front again. "I figure they're probably like, Faerie versions of our stuff, you know? Or I guess..." He frowned. "Our stories are probably more like Mundane versions of their stuff... I don't know. Dad's kind of obsessed with stars."

He gave her an embarrassed, sideways grin that tried to apologize for his dad's weirdness, but she just shook her head and nudged her shoulder into his.

"At least stars are cool. It could be worse. Your dad could be obsessed with ducks, like mine."

Lucas burst out laughing. "Ducks?!"

She laughed with him and shrugged. "Yeah. I don't get it either."

When they had recovered from the absurdity of a full-grown man having a full-blown case of anatidaephobia, Aspen decided to veer the conversation away from her father and back toward the deliciously-attractive guy whose face was all too close to hers now. She tried not to imagine what it would be like to just lean... in... a little...

"So..." She ducked her head a bit and looked back at him through a few strands of gold-blond hair. "What are _you_ into?"

He gave her a seductive grin. "Besides you?"

Aspen's heart flip-flopped in her chest. _Are. You. SERIOUS?_ Her internal screaming intensified.

"Wow... just wow," she stammered. "Are you always this smooth?"

"Nope. Just for you." He winked wickedly.

 _WAS THAT A HINT? SHOULD I JUST DO IT? WHAT DO I DO? OH, RAZIEL, HE'S WAITING FOR ME TO SAY SOMETHING!_

She took a quick breath and then leaned forward to kiss him without another thought. His lips were warm under hers, and she could taste a hint of sweetness from the strawberries on the cheesecake. She felt him inhale in surprise, and then he was kissing her back, and she was dying.

His hand came up to brush back her hair and his cool fingertips trailed along the side of her face, setting it afire as she blushed madly in response. She felt his lips part slightly and she tried to remember how to breathe as her mouth haltingly yielded to his lead. _OhmigodamIdoingthisrightwheredoesmynosego?_

Lucas pulled back slowly, unable and unwilling to hide his amused smile as he broke their first kiss more out of necessity than desire.

"Aspen... are you hyperventilating?"

The Shadowhunter giggled nervously in between pants and rolled off her elbows back onto the sheet so that she could have an excuse to look away from him. The night air was refreshingly cool on her flaming-hot face. _Holy hell._

"Um…" She didn't think her cheeks could get any redder, and she briefly considered accidentally-on-purpose knocking over some of the glasses that held the tea lights to give herself a bit more cover under darkness. _But I'll probably just end up burning down the orchard or something instead._ She swallowed nervously. "Would it be sad if I said that was kind of my first kiss?"

Lucas did a double take. "Not at all. In fact," he said slowly as he crawled toward her on his elbows, "I'm actually pretty happy that you said 'first'. That implies that there will be a second… and a third…" He skimmed his fingers down the inside of her forearm until he could lift her hand to his lips. She began to seriously worry about spontaneous combustion. It could be possible.

The sensual curve of his upper lip twisted up for a moment. "Maybe I should be grateful to the moose for keeping guys away from you for so long."

She turned her head to frown at him. "You can't call Hunter a moose."

"No? Maybe some other big, dumb animal?" He thought for a moment. "What about a llama?"

Aspen pushed herself back up to one elbow and got a grip on her giddiness. "Seriously, Lucas. He's my best friend _and_ my parabatai. We're a package deal. If you want to be with me then you guys are gonna have to be friends."

He leaned in and brushed a kiss across her still-burning cheek and whispered in her ear, "Worth it." He drew back to gauge her reaction to his advance and saw the stunned expression on her face. Quite independently of her, he also started worrying about the possibility of spontaneous human combustion. He decided to diffuse a bit of the tension. "Besides, I could get used to having a pet moose."

With a playful shove, Aspen steered the conversation away from her parabatai. "So, _aside_ from me, what else are you into?"

"Ah," he sighed, dropping back to lay on the sheet next to her. "I'm a huge fan of classic rock. Have you ever heard of this old band called The Mortal Instruments? Their drummer, Eric Hillchurch, is a _god_. I wish I…" He trailed off when she started howling with laughter, his face twisted into a bewildered stare. "What's so funny?"

Later, in front of the door to Aspen's guest bedroom in the manor, a courtesy she and Hunter had been extended by Sera and Rayce while they helped with the restorations, Lucas jammed his hands in his pockets and casually leaned against the door frame.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight… it's been kinda messed up for the last few days and it was nice to get out for a bit." He threw a glance down the empty hall toward where the impressive variety of other house guests were no doubt slumbering away behind closed doors. "It's kinda… tense."

Arynessa had been put up in a room that was as far away from Sera as possible, leaving her in the east wing with Zeke, albeit in separate rooms. Lucas' family was in the west wing near Sera and Rayce, and he had to admit that he had caught himself staring at the Faerie Queen even as she stared at his father. She had called him 'Nerissa's son' in the kitchen, and Lucas had a feeling there was more going on there than he could understand. He knew it was making his father uncomfortable, especially since his mother didn't seem to approve of the Queen for some reason. It seemed complicated.

"Psh," Aspen said dismissively. "Don't worry about it. My family has a long history of saving the world – they'll figure it out."

Lucas sighed internally. These… Shadowhunters… were so _different_.He looked into her golden-hued eyes and felt the same tug in his chest that had been pulling at him from the minute they had locked eyes. What _was_ it about her?

He cocked his head to one side. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Saved the world?"

She gave him a devilish grin and darted forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Not yet. Good night, Lucas."

"Good night, Aspen."

Lucas let his eyes linger on her as she slipped into her room and closed the door with a giggle, and then he sank back against the wall as he exhaled shallowly. He wondered what it would have been like if he had grown up as one of _them_ , if he could so casually discuss saving the world. Before that Faerie had taken his family captive, his biggest problem had been how he was going to pass calculus next year.

If he could be really honest with himself in his heart of hearts, a very tiny part of him was glad that it had happened. He felt terrible about his sister's hands, but the cuts had been cleaned and dressed, and she was already starting to heal. She would probably have scars, but nothing more serious. If the Faerie hadn't come, he might _never_ have found out about his parents' other life. Now that he had… he never wanted to leave.

"Hey, bro," a voice called quietly from down the hall.

Lucas turned and found Hunter padding toward him silently. _Man, I wish I could do that._ He remembered Aspen's warning that he would have to be friends with Hunter if he wanted to date her, and he stopped himself from responding with a curt, 'I'm not your bro.' "What's up?"

Hunter's teeth gleamed when he flashed him a smile. "Nice night for a walk." He pulled out a pocket and knife and ran the edge under one of his nails.

"Uhh… yeah. I guess." Lucas eyed the small blade. It didn't _look_ deadly… He edged past the bigger guy, intent on making it back to his room before he got shanked.

"Sleep tight," Hunter bade him darkly.

 _Yep… with one eye open._ "You too," he replied unsteadily when he was safely out of melee range.

"And Lucas?"

The Mundane turned questioningly.

"I'm not a moose."

Rayce finished lighting the last of the tea lights on the bedside tables and stepped back to admire his handy work. The bed was turned down, the pillows were fluffed up, and he had a bottle of white wine from the abandoned wine cellar under the manor chilling in an ice bucket next to a pair of glasses. He paused for a moment. _Does she even like white? What if she likes red?_ He gasped when his thoughts jogged one more step forward. _The babes!_ Footsteps were approaching on the other side of the door, and he quickly stashed the bucket behind the black, floor-length curtains that were tied back from the open windows with braided cords. He tried not to look guilty when Sera opened the door and froze on the threshold.

"What…?" She took in the candles, the bed, and her somewhat sheepish-looking husband. "What's all this?"

He casually strode away from the curtains. "I know it's been hard to sneak some time to ourselves with a house full of guests, but…" He shrugged. "I _did_ marry you, and I still want to fulfil my husbandly duties. You deserved a better honeymoon than this."

Sera smiled seductively. "Is that so?" She pushed the door closed behind her with one foot. "Because I can think of one _particular_ husbandly duty that I'd like to make use of…"

The candles burned steadily, and Rayce congratulated himself on finding them the previous day. When he had seen Aspen sneaking around and gathering what was clearly intended to be late-night picnic materials, he had surreptitiously left the bag where he knew she would find them. The more time she spent courting Lucas, the less time she would spend panting after him. He regretted sacrificing the leftover cheesecake to the cause, but he figured it was well-spent. The real trick would be convincing Sera of that.

He held out his hand to her and slipped his other around her waist to guide them in a slow circle to music only he could hear, moving as if they had danced together for ages. His eyes closed lightly and Sera saw a small smile creep up left side of his face.

"Where are you right now?" She whispered.

"Back at our wedding," he murmured, " _before_ we ever touched the gifts. We could have danced until dawn."

Sera felt slightly envious of his Court training, but grateful, as he effortlessly led them in a tight box. The soft glow threw shadows from their inherited Morgenstern furniture across the room, the graceful lines of the four-poster bed carved with falling stars that spiralled down the dark walnut piece left silhouetted against the soft grey walls. It was hard not to quietly eye the bed, but she stubbornly refused to ruin this for him. He seemed so... at peace.

"Then what?"

He nuzzled his temple into her hair gently. "Then I would have carried you off like I was supposed to. Wherever you wanted. What do you see when you think of a honeymoon?"

"A beach," she sighed back. "Sand and sun, sea breeze and drinks... probably an exceedingly minimal dress code..." She winced internally. "Maybe scratch the drinks for now, all things considered."

Rayce paused to lift her chin, his eyes alight with concern. "Sera, I promise, we-"

A quick _ratta-tatta_ knock on their door cut him off.

Sera swore under her breath and muttered to the obviously-deaf gods who were watching over her, "Are you serious right now?" She disentangled herself from Rayce and wrenched the door open a bit more forcibly than necessary.

Jace bounced up and down on his toes energetically, a little breathless with excitement. It took him a fraction of a second to register the candlelight and the carefully arranged bed. He blinked.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Usually," Sera answered through clenched teeth.

"Ah... sorry about that." He ran his left hand back through his hair and gave her an apologetic smile. "I need to borrow Rayce."

Rayce came to the door curiously. "For what?" Sera was pretty sure that neither of them heard her mutter, 'Now?' under her breath.

"I just got a message from the Scholomance - the Centurions finally managed to bag a pair of Hunters. They're being held for interrogation, and I figured you're kind of our go-to guy for all things Hunt-related right now. I need you to come with me and see if you can catch them lying by omission, or spinning half-truths, or whatever else they do to twist their words. We have to learn as much as we can if we're going to have any hope of tracking down the others."

Rayce bit the inside of his lip and looked to Sera for her opinion. He didn't dare to suggest that Mark go in his place; it was bad enough that Fiorinor had found the Unbound, no need to drag him in deeper. Sera lifted her eyebrow at him in return.

"If you're going, I'm going."

"Oh, excellent," Jace said brightly. "It'll be a sort-of honeymoon for you guys! The castle really has this Gothic-romance vibe once you get used to it. We have to leave quickly, though; the access window they gave me for the Portal there won't last long, and you definitely don't want to make the walk from outside the wards." He turned on his heel and hurried back down the hall, still carrying on, "It's freezing up in the mountains at night, and the passes probably still have snow..."

Sera squeezed her eyes shut. "No," she said quietly. "That's the exact opposite of a honeymoon." She shot a pained look at Rayce. "How is he still married?"

He shrugged back. "My aunt is a saint."

Less than ten minutes later, they were steadying themselves after stepping through a Portal that took them into the depths of the Scholomance. A familiar dark-haired man was waiting for them, and his eye widened in surprise when he saw the two younger Nephilim emerge after Jace.

"Sera, Rayce," Diego greeted them cordially, "I wasn't expecting you."

Jace gave him a smug look and tapped his finger to his temple knowingly. "I thought it might be good to have an expert along. Betcha didn't think about _that_ , Rosales."

"Indeed," the Executor answered dryly. "I was too concerned with how unbelievably tactless I would seem if I interrupted them during what should be a joyous time in their lives. How silly of me." He nodded to the couple. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks." Sera gave Jace a very pointed look and left him standing with his mouth hanging open as she turned to follow Diego.

Witchlight burned with a cold, pale, light in iron brackets that may have once held torches in another era along the dark stone walls. Frost grew in damp patches that mottled the long corridor, and Sera could see her breath when she exhaled. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed the sleeves of her thin, zip-up sweater. There hadn't been much to choose from in the way of warm clothes in the manor, given that she had barely moved in a summer wardrobe, let alone a winter one. She _had_ belted on Heosphoros, and was pleased with the satisfying weight of it on one hip. It felt like it had always been there. Rayce wore his distinctive double-bladed staff across his back as always. _Well, at least we have our wardrobe priorities straight._

Diego led them deeper under the castle that served as both barracks and school for the fabled Centurions, their order resurrected a quarter-century earlier in the aftermath of the Dark War. Their jurisdiction incorporated anything that related to the Fey, and on occasion, they had been used to conduct internal investigations within the Clave. It was rare for outsiders to be invited within its walls.

Diego pushed open an iron-banded door that looked to be made of solid oak, its ancient face studded in even lines of reinforcement. Inside the dimly-lit interior, the far wall was dominated by a wide panel of partitioned two-way glass that looked into what appeared to be three separate holding cells. A long desk sat underneath the window, and a few rolling office chairs were scattered in front of the pages and pages of reports neatly organized across the tabletop. Only one of the chairs was occupied at the moment, and the man rose swiftly when Diego entered.

"Executor," he murmured respectfully. Sera eyed his unruly dark hair and caught a quick glimpse of stormy grey eyes before he looked away almost restlessly, avoiding eye contact with the new arrivals. He folded his left hand behind his back while his right hand slipped a thin chain out of his pocket. He started cycling the links through his thumb and forefinger idly, a slow, steady movement that he didn't even seem to be aware of as he traced the smooth edges of each one and moved on to the next.

With an open palm, Diego bid the two younger Nephilim to come forward. "It's my pleasure to introduce Sera and Rayce Morgenstern." He gestured to the Shadowhunter standing in front of the desk. "This is Tiberius Blackthorn, the Centurion who was able to track down and capture our two errant Hunters in Prague."

Rayce offered his hand in greeting, but the other man made no move to take it. Rayce felt his heart sink. _Not everyone will accept a Morgenstern._ He let his hand fall uncertainly. "Blackthorn? Like Mark?"

The Centurion's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about my brother? No one is supposed to know. The Clave said so." His words were curt, and Rayce felt the sting.

"It's a bit of a long story, Ty," Jace cut in gently, "but-"

"He saved my life," Rayce answered quietly as he met the Centurion's challenging stare. "He knew… knows… what it means to serve the Hunt, and he defended me from those who could not understand what I had to do to answer the call of the Eternal Forest."

Ty scrutinized Rayce, staring hard at the pair of dark green eyes below the shock of white hair, and he slowly shook his head in denial. "Your eyes are the same colour. My brother's are different."

Rayce found Sera's hand and squeezed it. "I was freed."

"Faeries don't give back what they take," Ty whispered stubbornly. "We tried. We tried so hard." He blinked rapidly for a moment, trying to digest what it all meant. "But if what you say is true, then there's a way. You can free him, too. Fully. Not like the other Unbound." He nodded his head back toward the brightly-lit rooms on the other side of the two-way glass.

A strained silence passed between the four newcomers and Ty as each of them sent silent looks to the others. They had been on Wrangel Island, had seen what Sera and Rayce had had to do to open up the window of opportunity and snatch him back from the other side of the veil. It could never be repeated.

Diego assumed control once more. "It was a unique situation, and cannot be replicated for your brother. I'm sorry, Ty. We should focus on learning what we can from these Hunters. Rayce has kindly agreed to sit in and listen for what we may be missing in between the words they speak. He may be able to use his inside knowledge of the Hunt to catch any evasions."

Ty's breathing quickened and he looked away, frustrated, and Sera watched curiously as the previously slow stroking of the chain links sped up as well. She felt Jace lightly touch the back of her arm, and he gave her the faintest shake of his head, silently asking her to wait. Diego stood patiently with his hands laced behind his back.

It didn't take long for Ty to recover his composure. He turned his back on them and moved closer to the glass, his shoulders set rigidly as he braced himself on his palms. The four Shadowhunters followed his lead and looked through the windows into the three rooms that were partitioned off on the other side. The centre cell was empty, but they could see a Faerie crouched in the left chamber, huddled against the side wall and wrapped in chains like Marley's ghost. His long black hair was slashed through with dull silver streaks, and it hung in a tangle around his naked shoulders. He had been stripped to his small clothes to remove the danger of any hidden weapons, revealing a body that was smooth and unmarred by the scars that so typically marked those who served the Eternal Forest. The Hunter had his head down, buried under his arms as if to block out the harsh witchlight that illuminated the inside of the cell.

"I thought you said you got a pair," Jace pointed out.

Ty leaned in toward the glass on the right side of the desk and pointed straight down. "This one prefers to stay out of sight as much as possible." Diego hung back, but the other three followed Ty's example and peered downward, their faces almost pressed to the glass to get a look at the second Hunter.

Rayce hissed in disapproval when he saw the black and midnight-blue hair, the dusky skin. "Azad."

The Executor nodded encouragingly. "You know this one?"

"Know _of_ ," Rayce clarified. "My time with the Hunt was short, but I still have Gwyn's fading memories of the others, passed on to me through the mantle we both shared."

"That's intense," Jace breathed. "How much can you remember as him?"

A dark shadow passed behind Rayce's eyes and he closed them for a moment. He exhaled. "Too much. Not enough." He shrugged helplessly. "It comes and goes."

Diego lifted his chin to the glass on the left. "And the other?"

The half-Faerie moved down the desk, past the painstakingly-organized reports that were laid out, and he narrowed his eyes at the second figure. He reached absently for Gwyn in his mind. _What do you see?_ The big Faerie had been silent since vanishing with Veralysia from the Nightlands, and Rayce was beginning to suspect that whatever live connection they had shared had dissolved as well. All that remained now were the remnants of the past that had been transferred with the cloak. _No help from him anymore._ As much as he had wanted Gwyn and Sebastian to leave him alone before, they _had_ been useful from time to time.

The Hunter in the far cell shifted to find a more comfortable position, and Rayce heard the clank of the chains as they slid across the stone floor. The long lengths of links were secured to a pin in the wall that would only allow a modicum of free movement, but it was enough slack to be concerned if anyone had to go into the room with him. Rayce knew all too well how dangerous the Hunters could be in close quarters.

As if sensing the scrutiny, the second Faerie lifted his face to stare into what would only appear to be a mirror on his side. One dead black eye and a brilliant teal one burned with an intensity that startled Rayce. Hatred smouldered in that gaze, rage and anger that promised retribution.

 _And yet…_ Rayce strained at the edges of his own memories and Gwyn's, reaching for any recollection of the Hunter who had been brought low by the strange Centurion. Scores of condemned Faeries had been sentenced to serve the Hunt over the centuries, and dozens had survived to ride under Rayce's command. _But…_

"This one has never ridden with the Hunt," Rayce exclaimed in a low voice, shaken by his own certainty. Neither he nor Gwyn had any recollection of the Faerie who stared so balefully back at where his captors were hidden.

Diego cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Surely, you must be mistaken. His eyes..." The Executor gestured toward the cells. "Those chains are cold iron. If he were not a Hunter, he would be in agony right now."

Shaking his head slowly, Rayce couldn't take his eyes off the Faerie behind the glass. There wasn't a shadow of doubt in his mind. It was no accident that he had taken note of the other man's unblemished body; no Hunter remained unscathed for long. His stomach lurched as one of Gwyn's memories of Mark's bloodied face surfaced. Too many of them liked to play violent games. He reflected again on what little he knew of Azad, of how the Unseelie had kept himself apart from the others, content to observe and mark the movements of all the other players. What had he seen? Rayce felt a sinking sensation in his gut.

"I need to speak to him."

Ty's brow furrowed. "I thought you were here to listen. This is my investigation – I'm the one who figured out where to find them and how to capture them once I did."

"Ty," Diego warned. "Rayce is here as a courtesy, and you would do well to remember that. You may go with him if you wish."

The younger Centurion scowled and shoved away from the desk to leave the room and circle around to the doors that led into the cells from the other side. He snatched up a meticulously-carved quarterstaff from where it was resting against the wall near the iron-banded door.

Sera watched him go suspiciously and then grabbed a handful of Rayce's shirt before he could follow. "I don't like this. Let _him_ ask whatever questions you have."

"This is my mess, Sera," he told her gently. "I have to clean it up." She rolled her eyes and started to protest, but he laid a finger across her lips. "I know you're going to try to say that it's _your_ fault for freeing me, but _I'm_ the one who was dumb enough to get caught in the first place. But it all happened for a reason. If the wards are healed now, then we just need to take care of the monsters left inside them to be able to move on." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "My brother, the Hunters, even my sister... I'm the connection, Sera. I can't just stand aside and let others fight in my place."

She groaned under her breath. "If you could just have a bit more of that trademark Morgenstern selfishness right now, that'd be great."

"What?" He gave her a look of bewilderment and she felt her face flush in response.

"Nothing. Go, but be quick, okay?"

He nodded once, confusion still playing across his face, and then he turned to follow the same path Ty had taken.

Jace pulled out a chair and offered it to Sera. "He'll be alright." He threw himself into one of the others so that it sailed all the way to the right side of the desk and then he swivelled to watch through the glass.

"That guy... Ty..." Sera began hesitantly. "Is he...?" She didn't know how to ask her question delicately, and Diego spared her the trouble.

"He's the best investigator we've ever had at the Scholomance. That's all that matters." His tone of finality brooked no further curiosity on the subject, and Sera backed off guiltily and took the proffered chair. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ She shook her head and started to wonder just how much her poor sleep and bad dreams were starting to affect her.

Through the glass, Sera watched as the door on the far side of the cell opened to admit Rayce and Ty, and the Centurion quickly secured it behind them after entering. His distrustful eyes flickered calculatingly between the other two as he took their measure.

Azad looked up when he heard the squeal of the hinges, and no matter how much practice he had had during his nearly four centuries in this world, even he was unable to mask his surprise at seeing Rayce once more.

"The prodigal son returns," the Hunter greeted him cryptically.

Rayce narrowed his eyes in response. "I think the time for playing games has passed, Azad. You've backed yourself into a corner and now there's nowhere left to hide. Your only chance for leniency now is to tell the truth." He didn't pause or otherwise tip his hand. He knew that if he wanted to catch the Hunter off balance, he had to act like he already knew the answers. His brother's old lessons came creeping back. "How long did it take you to Turn him?"

The faint smile on Azad's face was all the confirmation Rayce needed. The sinking feeling grew into a gnawing pit inside of him, but he kept his face still and willed his breathing to remain steady. Since the inception of the Hunt, only its commander had held the power to Turn others, to bring them under the thrall of the cloak. It had started with Gwyn and Matias all those years ago and trickled down through the centuries until Rayce had been compelled to visit the same curse on Baelerithon. _But that power was ours alone, a part of the burden of the cloak, to shear away that part of each man and leave it forever out of reach, alone in the darkness._

"Not long at all," Azad confessed. He lifted his head proudly, completely unconcerned about the chains clasped around his wrists and ankles. "As the Mortals are so fond of saying, when the cat's away, the mice will play..." He spread his strong hands as much as the manacles would allow. "Can you truly blame me?"

Rayce was aghast at the bold-faced bravado of the other. To so casually damn another... to think of it as _playing_... "Yes," he breathed. "How could you do it?" _Not just morally, but physically._

"How could I _not_?" Azad threw back imperiously. " _Look_ at what we _are_ now! I would expect even a dull-witted half-breed like _you_ to be able see it, even if you would never have had the stomach to do it."

Ty's hand tightened into a fist around the shaft of his signature quarterstaff, temporarily halting his thumb's steady progress as he traced the raised ridges of the intricate carving along its length. Mark was a 'half-breed', too, and the insult to his brother made his blood race.

"Do what?" Rayce's voice was bitter. "Curse someone to be half a man? Steal a piece of their soul and condemn them to that life for all time? Make slaves of them?" He couldn't see the effect his words were having on the Centurion behind him.

The slightly pointed tips of Azad's canines gleamed when he gave Rayce a feral smile in response. "Curse them? No. _Bless_ them." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest against the wall below the glass. "You are utterly hopeless, Rayce Morgenstern. You cannot even see the truth when it is staring you in the face."

Rayce growled low in his throat and _shifted_ forward in an instant. He dragged the Hunter to his feet with one swift jerk and slammed him back against the mirror. A flash of his own snarling face in the reflection reminded him uncomfortably of his father's fierce excitement during the final confrontation with Everett in the Consul's office.

Inside the observation room, the three Nephilim flinched back from the window reflexively. Sera rose halfway out of her chair, startled by her husband's ferocity. He no longer had the excuse of the Hunt's taint, and she was forcibly reminded of her dark dreams of him.

"Last chance," Rayce warned the Hunter softly.

"We are _free_ , you fool," Azad hissed, unsurprised by Rayce's sudden assault, almost seeming to welcome it. "We serve no master now. With the blood of the Hunt in our veins, we need not fear the touch of cold iron, nor suffer the annoyance of grave dirt and salt." A thin trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth where he had bitten his lip, and it stained his smile red. "We heal faster than our brethren and may ride the winds of the world from out of the ether. This was never about our extinction," he breathed excitedly, "it's about our _evolution._ The Fey can take this dark embrace and usher in a new era with all of our weaknesses washed away." His laughter filled the holding cell, and his shaking shoulders masked the trembling in Rayce's hands. The revelation both horrified and stunned him, and he lost his focus for the one moment that Azad needed to strike, providing the opening the other had so patiently cultivated by luring Rayce in closer.

In a blindingly-fast movement, the Hunter whipped up one of the lengths of chain that dangled from his wrists and looped it around Rayce's neck. He pulled on it savagely and twisted the Nephilim around to shield himself from any retaliatory strikes from the Centurion.

Rayce choked as the links dug into his flesh and his hands flew to where the chain was compressing his vulnerable carotid artery. He tried to _shift_ out of the Hunter's grasp, but nothing happened. _Cold...iron..._ Dizzying blackness crashed through him, and his entire body tingled dangerously as his vision narrowed. He didn't hear Ty's shout or see the Centurion spin his quarterstaff up defensively. He didn't feel himself hit the ground when Azad dropped his now-unconscious shield and freed Rayce's staff from its harness.

Electrum and _adamas_ blades arced down at the anchoring pin of the Hunter's chains in the second before Ty attacked. The steelwood shaft spun in Azad's hands as he slipped sideways and kicked out powerfully. Ty dodged backwards, well-clear of the arched foot that lashed out in his direction, but he failed to factor in the trailing length of chain that followed, and he took a hard hit to the face. Blood spurted from his nose and the Hunter pressed his advantage immediately. Twin blades sliced in toward the Centurion with murderous intent.

The mirror shattered in a spray of glass that showered all three occupants of the holding cell, and Sera burst through with Jace a heartbeat behind her. Jace launched himself horizontally at the Hunter in a flying Superman tackle that brought them both crashing down and sent Rayce's deadly staff skittering away through the shards to slide into the wall near the door.

Sera dropped to her knees next to husband, heedless of the glass, and shook him. "Rayce? Rayce!" His eyelids fluttered for a moment and then he opened his eyes slowly.

"What happened?"

Jace was swearing violently as he struggled to get a handle on the loose ends of the chains that still bound the Hunter and caught an elbow to his ribs instead. The Faerie bucked wildly and would probably have thrown Jace off himself if Ty hadn't swung the butt end of his staff into the back of Azad's head. The prisoner immediately went limp and Jace disentangled himself in an unbroken stream of profanities that impressed even Sera. She looked back down at where Rayce was still looking a bit stunned and gave him a tiny, relieved smile.

"I think you just learned what cerebral hypoxia feels like."

He sat up with a groan as his head started pounding in protest. "I don't think I much care for it."

When the Hunter had been moved to the centre cell and secured once more, the Shadowhunters retreated to the observation room. Rayce sank into one of the chairs gratefully and let his head fall into his hands while he braced his elbows on his knees. Sera rubbed her hand across his back sympathetically. This probably wasn't how he had intended the night to go when he had been lighting candles an hour earlier. She wondered if they would still have time to salvage some part of it.

"Let me make sure I've got this straight, " Jace said as he leaned back against the desk in front of the hole on the right side. "That guy," he flung out his right arm to point toward the as-yet unnamed Hunter in the far cell, "wasn't a Hunter a few weeks ago when you were in charge?"

"No, he wasn't," Rayce answered in muffled voice from his palms.

"But the whole thing with joining the Hunt was that only Gwyn could make new Hunters, right?"

Rayce lifted his head wearily. "And then me, when I took the cloak. I..." He shook his head. "Everything Azad said – the immunities, the healing, the mobility... I gave all of that to Baelerithon when my sister sentenced him to the Hunt. And now he's out there somewhere, Unbound, with the Unseelie crown in his hands and a lust for vengeance in his heart."

"But how can there _be_ a new Hunter without the cloak?" Jace pressed. Agitation was stamped across his features, and he pushed away from the desk restlessly to pace. "Are you saying that this could spread? That this crazy 'evolution' plan could actually work?" He stopped in front of Rayce and gripped the younger Shadowhunter's shoulder. "Can they _all_ create new Hunters now? Turn the whole goddamn race if they wanted to?"

"I don't know," Rayce whispered. "I don't know how many of the others would even think to try. They're selfish by nature. But when the power of the cloak was broken... the ability may have dissolved into all of them."

"Raziel save us," Jace breathed.

"Then they must all be destroyed," Diego declared in a low voice, "and quickly."

Ty threw down his staff. "No! My _brother_ is one of them! Or have you forgotten," he practically spat in anger, " _Perfect Diego?_ "

The Executor's face darkened and he drew himself up to his full height. The hard line of his jaw could have cracked stone, but the younger Centurion refused to back down.

"Diego... Ty..." Jace flung his arms out between the pair and held them apart. "We need... we need to... to stop and think about this!" It was hard to get a word in over the shouting match that broke out between them, but he tried anyway. A Herondale was nothing if not stubborn. "We need... Alec! We have to tell Alec!"

While the men acted like... well... men, Sera looked over her shoulder at the crumpled form of the deadly Hunter in the holding cell. She knew that face, recognized it from the Bone Chandelier in her younger days. Her _mnemosyne_ rune wouldn't let her forget it. He was one of the ones she had seen there, one of the reasons she had even thought to go there for answers when faced with the impossible task of freeing Rayce. Frustration threatened to overwhelm her. She just wanted this to be _over_! She had never meant for it all to spiral so far out of hand.

The Hunter's body was marked by the centuries of his life, but it was the odd scar at the base of his spine that made her pause in the slow circles she had been tracing across her husband's back. She squinted more closely. _It looks like he used to have a tail._ A shudder ran through her when she imagined what it must have felt like to have it cut off. It reminded her too much of... her thoughts stalled... _of rows and rows of trophies on display._

Remembering her failed meeting with Jiahao rekindled the shame and anger she had felt when she had been so utterly dismissed by the former Seelie Lord. _And that bastard never_ did _answer my goddamn questions about the Hunt,_ she swore. With a lurch, she saw again the beautiful expanse of the lone, leathery wing so carefully displayed behind the Faerie's desk and her hands tightened. She heard Rayce hiss faintly as her nails dug into his shoulder, and she relaxed her grip with an apologetic pat.

"What is it?" He asked her in a low voice, unwilling the interrupt the argument between the others.

"I've got a score to settle, and I'm not going alone this time."


	10. Chapter 10

_**10**_

 _Moonlight_ _filtered down through the skeletal boughs of trees that were dead or dying in a forest that seemed to have no end. Crumbling leaves carpeted the ground around Sera when she opened her eyes into her dream and sighed with dismay._

 _It was the same thing every time she tried to search for the missing Hunters; death and decay, the earth leeched of its life and vitality. It was a relief not to see the familiar backdrop of Morgenstern Manor tonight. She still felt sick when she remembered the blood dripping from Rayce's hands onto the floor of the nursery while their children screamed in their cribs. The faint echo of their cries sounded on the wind, and Sera forced them out of her mind. The last thing she wanted to do was focus on that nightmare again and be dragged back into it._

 _She reached out into the forest around her with her mind, casting her gift out like a fisherman's net to try to capture the reason she was seeing this particular scene. In all the years she had spent searching for Rayce, and later finding out how to keep him alive long enough to truly be free of the Courts, she had always known the goal, always known where to start. Trying to find the Hunters... she didn't have anything to go on. Opening herself up like this to whatever scraps chose to surface was dangerous; anything could be out here. She took small comfort in knowing that if the wards were truly closed once more, at least she didn't have to worry about the demons that stalked this phantom world._

 _A gentle tug on her gift turned her around so that she was facing north. Overhead, without the thick foliage that had once graced the limbs of the great trees, the stars were clear and cold in the night sky. She couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes. It only took a moment to will herself into a set of tough, flexible gear that clung to her like a second skin. She was surprised to see a copy of Heosphoros materialize at her hip. Unexpected, but not unwelcome._

 _A gentle wind rustled through the dried-out, curling leaves at her feet, blowing them ahead of her to show her the way. She took a deep breath and followed._

 _The sickly smell of decaying vegetation filled her nostrils as she threaded her way deeper into the forest, and she began to see dark patches of rot along some of the trunks. Blemishes caused by the unknown disease ran up the barren limbs like liver spots on a grand old lady whose beauty had faded with time. Sera breathed shallowly through her mouth and tried not to look at the blight._

What could do something like this? _The wasting only grew worse with each passing minute, but its character changed. If the lands before had been dying, then now they were certainly dead. Where the trees had been marked by festering rot earlier, now they were eaten away entirely, the edges of the affected areas bordered by a dry, ashy texture that simply flaked away when the guiding breeze brushed past. The soft whisper of the wind beckoned her onward, and she continued to trace its path through the eerie quiet._

 _Ahead, the trunks began to thin, and it looked like there might be some sort of clearing. She felt a wave of foreboding cut through her. As creepy as the forest was, at least it provided a modicum of cover from the unnerving sensation of being watched._

 _An ear-splitting, staccato-burst of static shattered the stillness around her, and she reflexively threw her hands up to cover her ears as a jarring shudder ran through the dream. Everything swam diagonally for a moment, like bad reception on an old television set, and she felt a flash of fear. She had never seen anything like this in the decade that she had been walking the dream world._

 _As quickly as it had come, it was over._

 _Sera stood stock-still, waiting to see if it would happen again. A low-grade rushing sound filled her hearing, but she couldn't tell if it was a ringing left over from the burst or if it was a continuation of the same phenomenon. The wind pushed at her more insistently, kicking up a tiny whirlwind of leaves in its impatience. Clouds scudded across the stars overhead, dappling the ground in alternating patches of light and dark. Sera shivered. It felt like a storm was coming, and she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to stay and get caught in it, but she had already come this far. She drew level with the treeline and stopped._

 _It was the clearing from her very first dream._

 _She would have recognized it no matter how badly it had been destroyed by the ravaging sickness that had consumed her dreamscapes in recent nights. How many times had she replayed the tournament of champions in her mind, over and over, just to see Rayce again? The motley assortment of beautiful and terrible Faeries was absent, but she could almost see the pavilion where he had waited, and the trampled-down ring where he had first clashed with Kieran. She was sure that if she went just a bit farther, she would be able to find the gnarled oak throne before which he had knelt to offer his mother the honour of his first victory._

 _Her feet crept forward hesitantly out of the ruinous cover of the forest, and she slipped silently across the soft layer of ash under her boots. A silhouette rose from the earth near the centre of the clearing, and she thought it might just be the Queen's ornamental throne, but it was hard to tell._

 _It wasn't until she had drawn much closer that she was able to recognize the shape of a man crouching in the clearing, his hands braced against the ground with his fingers burrowed into the ash, his head bowed in concentration. The wind shifted some of the cloud cover and moonlight bathed the clearing. Sera gasped inaudibly as she recognized the blue-skinned Faerie. He was missing the great, black raven-feathered wings that she had grown accustomed to seeing in her dreams of Rayce, but from her vantage point behind him, she could see the barely-healed stumps protruding from his shoulder blades._

 _Baelerithon cocked his head to the left slowly as if sensing her presence, and Sera froze in alarm. He looked over his shoulder almost seductively, his lips turned up in a feral grin of delight when his mismatched black and amber eyes locked on to her. Malevolence rolled off him in nearly palpable waves. She had never felt anything so purely_ evil _in her life. The Unseelie crown gleamed darkly on his brow._

" _At last we meet, sweet Sera," he purred with satisfaction._

Nonononononononononono! _Sera's mind nose-dived._ He shouldn't be able to see me! _She started to spin away, scrabbling with her gift to get her_ out. _She had to get back to the real world, now!_

 _Baelerithon vanished, and then she felt icy hands closing over her upper arms as he pulled her back against his chest almost lovingly, covering the distance between them in a quarter of a heartbeat._

" _Don't go," he whispered in her ear. Her body went rigid in response to his command and terror crashed through her when she realized that she was trapped. She tried to force herself to lift her foot and bring it stomping down on his instep, to send an elbow arcing back into his solar plexus, to snap her head back and shatter his goddamn nose, but her body refused to obey her._

 _He waited patiently behind her as if he could read every move she wanted to make. His hands skimmed down the curve of her arms slowly as each attack was silently ordered and subsequently ignored by her traitorous limbs. Her heart pounded madly in her chest with every failure. Even her jaw was locked by the Unseelie King's power, and she did not even have the luxury of hurling insults at him._

 _Baelerithon pressed his face into her hair gently and inhaled. Sera squeezed her eyes shut; the last bit of movement left to her. His lips trailed down her neck as he breathed in her scent and she felt his fingers encircle her wrists to draw her even closer._

" _Oh, yes..." He exhaled. "I may not be able to feed from you in this world, but I am certainly free to enjoy the flavour." As if to demonstrate his point, his tongue traced its way back up the path taken by his lips. She felt him shiver with delight even as she tried and failed to gag in revulsion._

" _So powerful." He lifted her hands and held them over her abdomen with his own, pressing down tenderly. "So full of_ life. _" He laughed quietly to himself at his own joke as a riptide of fear crashed through Sera._

He knows.

 _Silent tears leaked from the corner of her eyes. Ragged breaths shuddered in and out through her nostrils. If she could have vomited, she probably would have._

 _Sera felt Baelerithon's breath on her cheek as he tasted the salty tear tracks running down her face. He seemed nearly lost in the heady throes of whatever he was getting from this, his head lolling to the side for a moment as if to give himself a break from the overwhelming pleasure._

" _My brother is a lucky man." Excitement rippled through his body and his hands slid away from hers to trail along her hip bones, nudging her body back against his more firmly. "It will make it that much more unbearable for him to lose you."_

 _The feeling of helplessness threatened to drag Sera under, and she struggled furiously against the invisible bonds that held her immobile in the hands of her enemy._

" _I_ am _coming for you, Sera," his whispered with deadly promise._

 _Her heart sank._

Faeries can't lie.

" _The power that I have at my command now..." A thrill of elation went through him, and he was nearly breathless when he spoke again, every word clipped in wonderment. "I've. Been. Reborn."_

 _Sera threw herself at the chains wrapped around her mind and screamed in fury, ripping at the enchantment with every scrap of knowledge her dearest friend had ever taught her. The anger seemed to strengthen her, and she hoarded it desperately. Her body betrayed no sign of the tempest that swirled within her as she grappled with Baelerithon's hold on her power, but he seemed to sense the shifting tide anyway._

" _If I ever catch you spying on me here again," he threatened her softly, "I can't promise that you'll enjoy it as much as I will." His hands fell away from her hips and he brushed her hair back from her face. "Don't worry, sweet Sera. When the time comes,_ I _will find_ you. _"_

 _He pushed her out of the nightmare, hard, and she screamed as she went tumbling head-first into the blackness that buffered the dream world from reality._

 _She screamed._

 _And screamed._

And woke to Rayce shaking her shoulders frantically. He shouted her name over her screams

"Sera! SERA!"

The sheets were tangled around her legs and a burning heat ripped through her panicked body. She struck out at him in blind terror and felt her fist connect with his jaw brutally. He rocked sideways but refused to leave her.

"Sera! It's me!"

She blinked rapidly while her eyes adjusted to the darkened bedroom. She panted shallowly and kicked the sheets away, sliding sideways out of the over-heated bed to land on the cool floor in a heap. She pressed her face into the hardwood and squeezed her eyes shut.

 _Not real._

The bedroom door creaked open and Rayce _shifted_ to the threshold instantly. Aspen stood there white-faced with her hand on the knob.

"It's okay," Rayce told his cousin quietly, not entirely sure that he was telling the truth. "It was just a nightmare." He looked past her into the hall, where other faces had emerged from other doorways and were looking toward the master bedroom fearfully. Zeke skidded around the corner in boxer-briefs with a short-sword in hand, and Cassius materialized a moment later with his _torahk-na_ looped on either hip and the strange gloves that went with them in his hand. "It's okay," Rayce repeated. "Everyone can go back to sleep."

Cristina folded her arms around her daughters protectively and led them back into their room as Lucas cast a frightened look at Aspen and withdrew into his own bedroom.

"Like hell we can," Zeke swore under his breath. He padded up the hall toward Rayce as Aspen slipped away and vanished behind the door to her borrowed room. Mark Blackthorn lingered just long enough to nod his head once in Rayce's direction, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding built upon two decades of his own private nightmares.

"That's not the kind of screaming that's supposed to come out of the honeymoon suite, boy," Zeke admonished gruffily, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to mask his fear with humour.

Sera appeared at her husband's side and smiled weakly. "Don't remind me." Her tank-top clung to her, sticky with sweat, and her hair hung limply.

Cassius' face furrowed with concern. "If there is anything I may do to ease your sleep, sweet Sera..."

 _Sweet Sera,_ Baelerithon's voice echoed teasingly in her mind. She trembled almost imperceptibly.

"No." Sleep was the last thing she wanted right now. "But since we're all awake now, you may as well come in. We need to talk."

A glance at the clock on the bedside table showed her that she and Rayce had barely had three hours of sleep since returning home from their visit to the Scholomance. She had wanted to wait for morning before broaching the subject of Jiahao with Cassius, but now seemed as good a time as any.

Sera sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her feet up into her lap as she addressed the Faerie. "I seem to recall you offering to do whatever you could to, ah..." Sera searched her memory for the words he had spoken in the kitchen. "... 'correct your error' with the King and the Forest. To go into Deep Faerie, the Courts, the Rift or beyond, if needed. Does that offer still stand?"

Cassius bowed his head formally. "Of course. On my honour, if you have found some way for me to be of service, I am yours to command."

"When I started trying to find a way to fix Rayce's..." She shot a pointed look at her husband. " _...error._.. I started by going to the oldest Faerie I knew I could find in the Mundane world. Not surprisingly, there aren't very many of you who will actually live up here, but word on the street was that he was exiled from the Seelie Court centuries ago. Pissed off the Queen by the sounds of it, and made a run for it to save his neck from the block or his soul from the Hunt."

She saw the Faerie's face lose some of its animation as a mask slid into place across his features. She resented pushing what had to be a sensitive subject, but she knew it was the right thing to do. "I went to Singapore to get answers from a Faerie named Jiahao."

"And how did you fare?" Cassius asked stiffly.

Zeke looked back and forth between them suspiciously, not liking the sudden change in his mate.

Sera kept her voice even. _I'm so sorry._ "About as well as you'd expect. He didn't give up a goddamn thing, but he knows _something_ about the Hunt, doesn't he?"

With a huff, Zeke threw his hands up. "How the hell do you expect him to know what a Faerie up here is getting up to? Cass has been in the Courts, and later the Rift, at least as long as I have. May as well ask _me._ "

Sera's golden gaze locked on to Cassius' grey eyes and she silently begged him to understand.

 _I saw the wing. I won't tell him about it._

"I have not spoken to Jiahao since before his exile," Cassius answered slowly, earning a look of surprise from Zeke at the unexpected revelation. "But I know that he was prying into the source of the Hunt's power before the Queen learned of his dealings and banished him from her Court in a very public display of her legendary temper."

"I knew it." Sera slapped her fist into her opposite palm grimy. "I knew that bastard was holding out on me. I think it might be time to go back," she added with a bloodthirsty smile, "and ask a bit _harder._ "

 _You can't just kill your way through everything, Sera,_ Alec's voice echoed through her mind. _Start fresh._

Some of the fire drained out of her, and she felt her shoulders relax a bit. "On second thought... maybe I should sit this one out."

" _We_ should," Rayce amended for her with concern in his deep green eyes. She couldn't tell if it was for herself or for their children, but she felt a guilty sense of relief that she had an iron-clad excuse to stay out of it this time. The thought of disappointing Alec so soon after his warning made her insides squirm guiltily.

"Well you're sure as hell not going alone," Zeke declared firmly to Cassius, folding his arms across his bare chest defiantly.

 _Ah, shit_ , Sera groaned inwardly. She caught Cassius' eye again and implored him to deter the Stripped Shadowhunter. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that Zeke would go completely berserk if he saw that wing, and they would be searching for pieces of the exiled Seelie Lord from now until the next signing of the Accords.

"Given the current state of affairs between the Fey Courts and the Clave," Cassius said delicately, "perhaps if would be best if I were to go alone and speak to Jiahao as one Faerie to another."

"Ah, piss on that." Sera was certain that Zeke would have spat if he hadn't have been standing in her bedroom. "I haven't had anything to do with the Clave in over forty years. No one in their right mind would ever think that someone who had been Stripped could possibly be an official emissary of the Nephilim. I go where you go."

Sera pushed herself up off the edge of the bed and gently touched Zeke's shoulder, avoiding the angry weal of what had once been a Protection rune. "Please, Zeke," she begged softly, "let's not stress Alec out any more than we already have. Magnus will have a fit if he sees grey hairs."

"Hmmph."

She decided to take that as a win.

Sera looked at Cassius uncertainly. "Will you go?"

In response, the Faerie kissed the tips of the first two fingers on his right hand and bowed his head. "To right the wrong that I have done."

He ended any further discussion by folding his remaining wing around himself and vanishing.

Cassius's bare feet touched down silently on the bright red carpet that ran down the centre of the long room where Jiahao kept his private office in Singapore. It was morning here, the start of the work day, and bright sunlight shone through the high windows in sharp contrast with the darkness than had enfolded Morgenstern Manor. The glass display cases gleamed around the macabre treasures within, and Cassius held himself carefully in check, refusing to let the assorted collection of tails, hooves, horns, and hair affect him.

He kept his eyes trained on the dark-haired Faerie sitting behind the well-polished, black walnut desk at the back of the room. Only centuries of discipline kept his gaze from drifting upward to the grotesquely-displayed wing in its custom case hanging behind the desk in a place of high honour. Quiet rage simmered deep in his heart, and he forced himself to tighten his control. This was to be his punishment for his error in judgement in dealing with the Unseelie King's body as he had. He would endure it because he had to.

"Jiahao," he said quietly.

The Seelie Lord looked up immediately. His black eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly in shock. He sagged back into the plush leather chair and his hand made no motion to seize the concealed dagger from the case affixed to the underside of the desk.

"Cassius," he breathed, stunned by the other's sudden and unexpected appearance. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The one-winged Faerie kept his face impassive. He was relying on keeping the other man off-balance, and smashing past his wards to arrive unannounced was an excellent opening move in the game of chess he was anticipating playing with him.

"The Wild Hunt."

Jiahao frowned, his slightly-pouty lips pursing suspiciously. "A popular subject recently, it would seem."

Cassius advanced slowly and kept his voice low and laced with deadly intent. He lifted a slim finger in warning. "You know more than you have told, Jiahao, and I have come to ensure that this time you tell all that you know."

Light danced in the exiled Faerie's eyes and a thrill of excitement crossed his face, lifting his perfectly-sculpted features. "Ooh, I did so love it when you were being masterful, Cassius." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I miss our nights together. I have not had anyone as exciting as you in my bed in centuries, and believe me, I've tried. Have you not become similarly bored?" A coy smile curled his mouth.

The gruesome trophies on display all around him told Cassius everything he needed to know about what sorts of Fey had found their way into the exile's arms.

"No." He continued to keep his answers short, unwilling to give away anything more than was absolutely necessary.

Jiahao's expression soured slightly. "Of course. I had heard that you had found yourself a broken Nephilim to play with. I suppose that is why you have come with your questions of the Hunt." He paused, fishing for answers. "So much trouble with the children of Raziel of late," he prompted.

"I am uninterested in playing games with you, Jiahao. Tell me what you would not tell the girl." It was an exercise in self-control not to whip the _torahk-na_ from his hips and cleave the other Faerie in two.

"But it would be _so_ much more fun to _show_ you," Jiahao pouted. "Let me in. For old time's sake?"

Revulsion flooded through Cassius at the thought of allowing the other to touch his mind, to share his memories. For the first time in centuries, he felt a phantom pain in his missing wing, and he rolled his right shoulder as if to ease the ache. His grey eyes flicked up involuntarily to the leathery expanse that was so carefully pinned and preserved over the desk and his heart clenched in his chest. He gritted his teeth.

 _To right the wrong that I have done._

He nodded.

 _Cassius shuddered as Jiahao's mind layered itself over his own and a memory began to seep across their tenuous connection. The edges of his sight flickered and the office faded, replaced by the dark, rough-hewn stone of the tunnels that ran through the kingdom of the Unseelie. Wavering blue Faerie-lights cast a ghostly glow across the rock._

 _An image of Jiahao coalesced beside Cassius and raised its hand to knock on a door of polished black oak bound with silver as the memory began to play. His ageless face looked no different from the one Cassius had left behind in the horror-filled office, but the weight behind the black eyes seemed lighter. He was younger, and if he was in the Courts, this memory surely came from before his exile._

 _The door opened a few inches, and a very young Unseelie Faerie boy peeked out anxiously. It was unlikely that he had even reached his twentieth year by the unfinished look to his features. Maturity was still enfolding him within its embrace, hardening the bark-like skin and bringing out the luminosity in his yellow eyes. Fear, perhaps born of finding a Lord of the Seelie Court on his threshold, made his voice tremble._

" _If you seek my father, my Lord, know that he is dead, passed from this world before the last turn of the moon."_

 _Jiahao bowed his head respectfully, the picture of Courtly courtesy, and closed his fist over his heart. Through the memory, Cassius could feel the disappointment in his mind. Siarinath had been the grand architect of the magic behind the King's corruption of the Eternal Forest years ago, and Jiahao had been certain that the secret to the Forest's power would be found here. He eyed the boy. Perhaps he might still salvage something. The Unseelie were growing even stronger, bolstered by whatever strange transformation had been wrought on the King's eldest son, Gwyn. He needed answers before it was too late._

" _I am truly sorry to hear of your father's passing," the Seelie said sincerely, his words true, but they served to shade his annoyance at the complications it would cause him. "Might I come in to rest before I return to the Seelie Court?"_

" _Of course, my Lord," the boy murmured, opening the door wider._

 _Jiahao could hardly contain his surprise when he saw the inside of the domicile. It was a sorcerer's sanctum in truth, the walls lined with aged tomes and countless glass jars containing material spell components. He quietly marvelled at what were likely priceless volumes of magic heaped all about the room as if their master would return at any moment.. Only the faintest whispers had reached the heart of the Unseelie Court to speak of quiet assassinations enacted against the sorcerers who had turned Prince Gwyn into a gatherer of the dead. One whisper had even dared to suggest that the Lady Veralysia had gone to the King to beg for her mate's life before she had disappeared from the Court. It seemed that no sooner did the whispers start then they were suddenly silenced. Whatever the King was meddling with, it was forbidden._

" _What is your name, child?" Jiahao asked kindly, already sending his gift tendriling toward the boy's mind. He found weak, sloppy, guards in place, and he sighed internally. This one had a long way to go if he was going to survive in the Unseelie Court without his father's protection. Jiahao skirted the guards like a wraith, leaving them untouched and undisturbed as he pushed deeper into the Faerie's thoughts._

" _Iarlath, my Lord." The bark-skinned male set aside a spell book that had been sitting open on a low sofa where he had obviously been reading before Jiahao had knocked._

" _Are you studying your father's craft to one day take his place?"_

 _Pride bloomed in the boy's mind under Jiahao's watchful monitoring. He made minute adjustments to his touch in response, letting out slack on some of his lines while tightening others as he tried to find that perfect balance that was so crucial to laying down a proper web of compulsion._

" _Yes, my Lord," he answered respectfully. "My family has long been in service to the Royal family and its patron. We are proud to serve the Morning Star and his heirs."_

 _Jiahao gently nudged the budding sorcerer's memories as the boy spoke, and the tides shifted with each new thought, bringing fresh information to the surface upon the crests of the swells for him to scoop up as he desired. He needed to manage the conversation deftly and draw the boy into the right waters if he was to successfully fish for what he sought. Very carefully, he trailed a desire to please in the ocean of thought before him and laced in hints of trust, weaving a thin bond between the two of them._

" _Your father's service was extraordinary, I understand," the Seelie murmured as he worked. "His achievement with the Eternal Forest may be remembered for all time as the greatest legacy ever bequeathed to the Unseelie by a single Faerie. Your people thrive and return to our world more strongly than every before, and many lay the credit at his feet. A truly wondrous accomplishment." He felt a surge of affection along the connection, and he knew that he had safely hooked the boy. But he felt no bites on his lines. The boy did not know what his father had done, not precisely enough to be of use._

" _I have much to live up to," Iarlath admitted shyly, "but I will work hard to honour my ancestors. Others have offered to tutor me in exchange for access to my father's collection, but I have refused them all. I will show them what Iarlath, son of Siarinath, can do. I will learn from his notes."_

 _There._

 _Jiahao concealed the tiny smile that twitched up the corner of his mouth. The image of a leather-bound journal secreted away in Siarinath's chambers surfaced for a moment before submerging once more. He scraped a mental claw along the temporary, and thickening, bond that twisted between himself and the boy. He chose his mark carefully and applied metered pressure._

" _A great sorcerer, such as your father, must surely have kept the finest of notes. What a treasure to behold." The Seelie felt a sighing release in the boy's mind as his gift massaged along the twin centres of obedience and adoration._

" _His journal is the real treasure," Iarlath boasted. Jiahao could have purred. It was almost too easy to ply his magic against one so young. It wasn't fair, really. "May I… would you care to see it?" The boy's yellow eyes shone eagerly in his excitement. "A great Lord, such as yourself, would be able to properly appreciate his genius."_

" _You honour me," Jiahao answered humbly, playing into the Unseelie's preening. "I would be delighted to see anything you wish to share."_

 _Iarlath nearly bolted to his father's bed chamber in his haste to please the Seelie Lord. Jiahao allowed himself a soft laugh under his breath. So simple, really, to convince others to part with what they otherwise would never give away. It was a far greater thrill to collect hooves and horns and tails from the lovers he deemed worthy of remembering, but perhaps he would find a way to immortalize this bit of trickery. Keeping the journal indefinitely would be far too messy, but he was already planning a deliciously wicked way to return it to the boy unknowingly. Once he had the answers he sought, it would be a small thing to plant the journal with one of the Unseelie. The King's justice would be swift and merciless against the alleged thief._

 _Games within games, wheels within wheels._

 _When the boy returned and presented the journal to his guest with an almost reverent gesture, Jiahao closed his slim hands around it possessively. He began unwinding the braided cords between their minds and rose smoothly to his feet. Iarlath watched with a slightly glazed expression as he waited for praise, for any sign that he had earned the Seelie Lord's favour._

 _Jiahao leaned in toward the boy and breathed a single word in his ear._

" _Forget."_

 _He sliced the last ribbon between the two of them and gave it a gentle tug before letting it curl back into the young sorcerer's mind, where it rolled over their brief acquaintance and shrouded the memory of his coming in murky darkness. Iarlath's gaze unfocused long enough for Jiahao to slip out the door with his prize. He felt the last vestiges of his gift in the boy's mind gently smother their encounter until it faded completely._

"You are a monster," Cassius breathed in disgust. The other Faerie's touch on his mind felt oily, unclean, and he struggled to master himself under its influence. The centuries had dimmed his memory of Jiahao's gift, or perhaps the other had simply become more tainted as he descended deeper into his dark pleasures. Cassius wondered uneasily if there were other trophy rooms like this one in other places, if there had been thousands of Faeries who had fallen prey to the manipulative Seelie Lord.

"But I was once _your_ monster," Jiahao teased in a low voice. His eyes were filled with unmasked desire that fed on the link he had created to share the memory. His lips parted and he panted shallowly.

"What did the journal reveal?" Cassius asked sharply, sensing the slow burn of arousal in the exiled Lord.

He received a cryptic smile in response, and felt the thrust of Jiahao's mind against his own once more.

 _Safely returned to the Seelie Court, Jiahao opened the journal in the privacy of his own chambers after dismissing his servants. He warded the room as heavily as he dared, cautious about attracting unwanted attention to what might be happening behind his shields, but wary of opening a sorcerer's private writings completely unprotected._

 _It did not take long to find the section about the Eternal Forest; it was clear that Siarinath considered it the culmination of his life's work, and his writing took on a fanatical zeal as he documented the momentous event._

 _Jiahao turned page after page, drinking in the dark story behind the chain of events that had led to the Forest's corruption._

 _The Unseelie King had quietly despaired for centuries as his people had continued to Fade from the world, unable to sustain their lives as the demand for the earth's magic rose and outpaced its ability to renew itself. The simplest of nature's laws governed its magic; all those who live must die. Their bodies were returned to the earth, their energy was reborn anew. But the process was slow, and the King was impatient._

 _He called Siarinath to him privately to share his concerns. Ever had the sorcerer's house served the throne faithfully, and the King placed his trust in his advisor to do so once more._

 _Years melted away as Siarinath contemplated the puzzle set before him. Time, it seemed, was the enemy. Supply, it seemed, was the limiting resource._

 _In the darkest hour of the winter solstice, Siarinath heard the whisper that would send him creeping along the dangerous path that would lead to his success._

Time _, the voice had whispered_ , ran strangely in the wilds of Deep Faerie. _The Eternal Forest ran on a very different schedule than the Mortal world from which it drew its nourishment._ If it were to be fed directly... _the promise was left unspoken. Siarinath dared to wonder how the Forest might be taught to consume its victims, to drain their energy straight into the Heart of the World._

 _The answer presented itself to him in a moment of clarity._

 _A mad plan began to form in his mind, and the more he delved into its plausibility, the greater his excitement grew. Demons_ , _he reasoned, had long held the secrets of leeching a world's life away. And only one would be powerful enough to achieve what the King wished. Only one would be willing to make the sacrifice for the rich prize that would be offered in return._

 _After securing the King's stunned blessing, Siarinath devoted months toward crafting the spell that would bind the unholy union if it was accepted. If he erred in any way, death would surely be a welcome release from the torment he would endure for his audacity._

 _The day came, and with a thrill of fear in his heart, Siarinath called upon the ruler of all demons, the King of Hell, the father of Luchareon himself._

 _And Lucifer came._

 _Long had he awaited the sorcerer's summons, all but powerless to reach through the cursed wards that sheltered that world from his touch. But this... his offspring would at last serve their purpose. The seeds he had scattered to the wind were finally bearing fruit. They would open a side door for him into their world._

 _Entombing a piece of his essence within the Forest would come with a price, though. It would become nearly impossible for him to manifest physically elsewhere, but he considered it of little importance. There was only one summons that he had wished to answer; the other meaningless rites carried out by the humans of that world held no interest for him. Their realm was ripe and lush. It would provide millenia of steady sustenance for his power, and the crack they opened might one day allow him to break their world's wards entirely and lay waste to it in a glorious glut of destruction._

 _The bargain was sealed._

 _Lucifer's dark influence settled over the once-beautiful Forest, slowly seeping into every blade of red-purple grass, every branch of every tree. The Forest began to change and warp as the corruption spread further and further from its heart. He flexed his consciousness within this new extension of himself, and he drew more deeply upon the Mortal world. The Forest's roots strained and screamed, but the earth's magic flowed more readily, and the Unseelie became Resurgent._

 _However, the system was limited. It was not enough to simply pull harder on the lines that connected the Forest to the world above; the overexertion could not be borne indefinitely. More would be required._

 _Siarinath pushed to fulfil the second half of the promise that had been left unsaid by the whisper in his mind. Unseelie warriors were sent to the Mortal world with orders to steal away whatever humans they wished and to then bear them deep into Faerie to sacrifice to the Forest directly._

 _The experiment was a success... and a failure. Energy surged through the limbs of the ghastly trees, but Lucifer's taint seemed to magnify the maddening effect that was inherent in Deep Faerie. The warriors lost their minds, and the King was left without a solution once more. It would gain him nothing to sate the Forest at the cost of his own warriors each time._

 _Siarinath pondered the problem anew and prayed for inspiration to strike him once more._

 _Lucifer was only too happy to oblige._

 _It was much easier to reach out and whisper across the pathways between Deep Faerie and the Unseelie Court now that he had a foothold in their world._

Remake one in my power _, his voice called out to Siarinath, feeding him the secrets he would need to Change one of the Unseelie, to blend Lucifer's essence with their blood. It would be a simple thing to bind one half of a soul to the rest of his essence in the darkness that lay outside the realm of the living where he would dwell for all eternity. The other half would be left to walk the world, bound in service._

 _Luchaereon and Siarinath gathered the greatest sorcerers of the Unseelie Court and led Gwyn deep below the caverns that housed their people. Upon an island in a dark lake, the King and his five sorcerer lords Turned the prince and offered up his soul to save the Unseelie._

 _Ecstasy shuddered through the Eternal Forest when it felt the spark of itself bloom within Prince Gwyn once the Faerie beheld the horror that lay beyond the veil, once he had looked into the unending void and seen what waited within. It would no sooner destroy him than destroy itself. They were one. He would pass unharmed under the boughs of the Forest._

 _When a second gatherer was Turned through the blood of the first, the Forest could hardly conceal its delight. The ranks of the Hunters grew, and Lucifer's darkness crept into their hearts as it had once wormed its way into the trees. He found fertile ground in the souls of the murderous and traitors, and the character of the Hunt began to shift, growing wilder and more violent as the years passed._

 _The Forest thrived._

 _The Unseelie flourished._

Cassius forced Jiahao back out of his mind. The revelations stunned him.

The exiled Lord smirked playfully.

"So you see, I never had the answers the girl sought. I cared nothing for the Hunters – only for the source of the corruption that had taken root in the Forest."

"But none of what you showed me would have earned you your exile. What else are you concealing from me? My patience wears thin."

Jiahao sighed happily. "How I miss you, Cassius. You know me so well." He gave his former lover a sultry look. "If I did not know better, I would almost believe that you were enjoying your private show. Eager for more?"

Pain spiked through Cassius' right palm as he clenched his fist tight enough to draw blood with his nails.

"Show me."

 _Jiahao burst into the Seelie Queen's smaller audience chamber with breathless excitement._

" _My Queen! I have discovered the secret of the Unseelie resurgence at last! I -"_

 _The Queen's icy blue eyes razored through him furiously when she spun on her heel to confront her unexpected visitor. An elaborate gown of white silk and swan feathers swished around her legs, its plunging neckline shamelessly displaying her charms under a necklace laden with diamonds. A scrying mirror hung behind her, and the face of the Unseelie King stared out at Jiahao with anger spreading across his features._

 _Jiahao felt as if a pit had opened in his stomach and he was poised to hurl himself down into its depths._

" _What's this?" The King rumbled. "Explain yourself, Sammaradriel."_

 _Calculations buzzed behind the Queen's eyes in a heart beat as she ran a dozen different potential answers at once. The Seelie Court was not ready to wage open war against their Unseelie brethren. Not now._

 _She half-turned so that the King would be able to see her face, and she arched an eyebrow coolly at Jiahao._

" _I would like an explanation myself."_

 _True words._

 _Jiahao read the meaning in them instantly. She was throwing him to the wolves. Now it was up to him to decide if he wanted to be swallowed up quickly or slowly eaten alive. He would have to try to deflect as much suspicion as possible away from his prying. A bit of truth to flavour the lie._

" _The Hunters," Jiahao choked for good effect. "They are preying upon the dead as vultures would, and then stealing away the fallen to feed the Eternal Forest directly. It's an abomination."_

 _The King's hard gaze relaxed almost imperceptibly. He bared his teeth at the Seelie Lord before him. "If you are so interested in the Hunt, I can easily arrange for you to join them. A fitting sentence, I believe, for delving into matters where you are not welcome."_

" _He is_ not _yours to punish," the Queen snapped back at the scrying mirror. Jiahao dared to breathe. A reprieve?_

" _Then sentence him yourself," came the King's bored response. "I care not how he joins them."_

"I _will decide his fate, Luchaereon," she warned. "We will continue our discussion later."_

" _If it pleases me," the King replied._

 _The mirror went dark._

 _With an angry slash of her hand, the Queen made the mirror vanish, sending it back to wherever it rested when not in use. She was taking no chances that Luchaereon might attempt to listen from his end._

" _You_ fool _," she hissed at Jiahao. "You twice-damned_ fool. _I should kill you myself for threatening to expose everything we have worked so hard to uncover!"_

 _He bowed his head in shame and knelt before her. "It is your right, my Queen. I have failed you."_

 _The Queen huffed in annoyance and tossed her head, sending glittering pinpricks darting across the room as the Faerie-light reflected off her wondrous crown hypnotically._

" _You are useless to me if you are dead." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I cannot be seen to do nothing – Luchaereon will be listening for what I choose to do with you. But you may have saved yourself with your misdirection about the Hunters. I can only assume that you have learned something far more valuable than what is already being told as the truth of what his sons are doing."_

 _He didn't dare to look up, but he nodded silently._

" _Do not speak of it here." She paused thoughtfully, weighing her options. "Exile," she pronounced. "You will never set foot in the Courts of the realm of Faerie again."_

 _Mixed emotions flooded through Jiahao. He would live... but as an outcast in the Mortal world._

" _But you will not be idle in your exile," the Queen continued. The swan feathers whispered across the floor toward him until she could lift his chin with one delicate hand. "You will continue to pursue the task I set you. You say that you have unlocked the secret of the Unseelie resurgence. Very well. I will spare your life so that you may find a way to balance the scales of power once more. Devise a way to erase the stain upon our world that they have allowed to creep in when I command it. I suggest that you keep your digging hidden – if Luchareon discovers your intent, I will not protect you from his wrath."_

 _She took his hands in her own and bade him to rise._

" _If ever there comes a day when your knowledge may destroy what he has wrought, I will lift your exile, that you might return to the Courts with my grace."_

 _Jiahao kissed her ring, grateful for her mercy._

" _I will find a way, my Queen."_

"And did you?" Cassius demanded. "Continue your search?"

"Oh, yes," the exiled Lord reassured him. "And I have had the answer tucked away for the better part of a century, just waiting for the Queen to send word... but now she is gone, and I have a deal with a dead woman." He crossed the strip of red carpet running down the centre of his office and selected one of the great brass-bound volumes from a neat bookcase.

The book creaked in his hands when he lifted the cover, and Cassius watched him carefully as a single sheaf of aged parchment slid free. Carefully preserved by the keeping woven around the tome, its edges were clean and fresh, the bold, flowing script across its face crisp. Jiahao held it pensively.

"If Sammaradriel's daughter could be convinced to honour the bargain..."

Cassius exhaled slowly. "She will. I swear it."

"But how can I be _certain?_ " Jiahao's gaze became predatory. "I need a surety to guarantee that I will not be left with nothing once I have parted with this."

 _To right the wrong that I have done._

"If the Queen refuses to lift your exile..." Cassius answered haltingly, his heart heavy in his chest for his grey-eyed Shadowhunter, "I will return to you, and all will be as it once was between us. I do so swear and bind my word."

Jiahao shivered with unrestrained glee. "Now I hardly know which outcome to hope for." He offered the page teasingly for Cassius to come and collect, drawing him closer.

"You might not care for the price," Jiahao whispered as Cassius took hold of the edge of the sheet and tried to pull it away. The one-winged Faerie's eyes skimmed down the lines of carefully inscribed instructions.

 _A potion of some sort._

The common ingredients held no interest to him, and it wasn't until he reached the bottom of the list, just before the brewing instructions began, that he felt his eyebrows lift.

 _Corruptisia blooms._ The insidious flowers that only grew in Deep Faerie, their pollen blown on the breeze to spread the maddening effects of the land. Getting close enough to the shrouded valleys where they flourished would be difficult, but not impossible. The dangers of going that deep into the Faerie realm and disturbing the creatures that lived there were the real concerns.

 _Pure angel blood._ He shook his head faintly. He could only pray that the Nephilim could find a way to get their hands on it. It seemed as if Jiahao's recipe might have been useless to the Queen even if she _had_ found the opportunity to strike at the Unseelie. Greater Fey were the descendants of angels and demons, but none of them had ever seen their Heavenly parents, and no one could ever mistake their blood as pure when demon taint coursed through their veins.

The last line drained the colour from his face, and his eyes flicked up to Jiahao beseechingly.

"Is it truly necessary?"

The exiled Lord smiled slowly. "There is no other way." He tapped the bottom of the page where the final step was meticulously described. Cassius read the passage and had no choice but to agree. The reasoning was indisputable, and the magic invoked was old and powerful.

"Then it must be done," Cassius breathed, defeated. His shoulders drooped, and he felt Jiahao's cool fingers trace up the curve of his spine in his moment of weakness. He twisted out from under the unwelcome touch and backed away with his prize, forcing himself to remember where he was and what he still had to do.

Jiahao's low, dark laughter set his blood boiling once more.

" _One_ of you will have to honour their promise, Cassius, and I do not have much faith in Sammaradriel's daughter. From what I have heard, she might not live long enough to lift my exile."

"She will honour her mother's agreement," Cassius responded fiercely. " _To the letter._ Your exile will only be lifted if _this_ ," he lifted the page, "is successful. If you are wrong, _neither_ bargain will be upheld."

His great, black wing lifted, closing around his body to whisk him far away from the rows of grisly reminders of just how far Jiahao could twist one's mind. He did not see the exiled Seelie Lord lift his hand in mock farewell, but he heard the excitement in his parting words.

"Heads, I win, Cassius. Tails, you lose."

 _**Author's note: I don't know if I'll be able to post Ch 11 before Lord of Shadows releases (I *am* already working on it!), but I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for following me this far down the rabbit hole. I'm fairly confident that even though LoS will shatter most, if not all, of the arcs I've created in The Morgenstern Legacy trilogy, I may yet be proven to have drawn first blood on Cassie by correctly guessing which way she'll take some of her plot lines. I hope you've enjoyed this last chapter as canon before the curtain falls; see you on the other side! I intend to finish the trilogy no matter what happens in LoS, and I will most definitely still be writing The Mortal Reflections anthology of short stories, as they will remain, for the most part, untouched by any of the upcoming publications that Cassie has in the works._


	11. Chapter 11

Alec covered the grounds that stretched away behind Morgenstern Manor with long strides that ate up the distance quickly. He had delayed as long as he had dared, but he couldn't put this meeting off any longer if he was going to have any hope of succeeding in making the next move in his delicate plan. It would do little good to continue to guess and predict possible outcomes if he lost his opportunity to make good on them.

The first boughs of the overgrown apple orchard that was badly in need of care rose over a gentle hill that sloped down into the forest of fruit trees. He spied a table set for two standing just at the edge of the tree line, lightly shaded from the morning sun and laden with a breakfast fit for a…

… _Queen._

Arynessa perched straight-backed in the west-facing chair, clad in what looked like one of Isabelle's more demur dresses, a rippling, airy flow of white fabric that Alec immediately decided not to tell her was a mourning gown. Maybe she already knew. He felt his palms grow slightly clammy as he anticipated the negotiation ahead. So much depended on the outcome.

At least it looked like Simon had done as Alec had asked, arranging a suitably vegetarian breakfast for the Queen in the privacy of the grounds. Not surprisingly, with Morgenstern Manor nearly bursting with house-guests, it was difficult to find somewhere to conduct a private conversation. The hurried debriefing from Jace about what had happened at the Scholomance the previous night had been held in muted whispers in the pantry. Hearing that the curse of the Hunt could be spread, could be weaponized, only further convinced Alec of the need for haste. They no longer had the luxury of time.

The Seelie Queen's violet eyes locked on to him when she heard his approach, drawing her attention away from the birds flitting around in the orchard to pull at the worms feasting on the rotting apples that had fallen from the trees. She did not look amused to have been kept waiting, but Jace had _insisted_ that Alec needed to hear about the Scholomance before going out to meet her.

"I apologize for the delay, your Highness. Things have been, understandably, unsettled with the Clave as of late."

She narrowed her gaze haughtily. "Yes, I'm sure the destruction of the Seelie Court must be quite an inconvenience to you," she replied in a voice that dripped with false sweetness.

Alec matched her stare evenly with one of his own and sharpened his tone more than he intended. "No more so than the razing of Alicante." _Careful_ , he cautioned himself. He inhaled slowly, trying to relax. "We must both set aside this animosity if we are to work together."

In response, the Queen held their eye contact for a few moments longer and then looked down to select a ripe strawberry from the succulent fruit platter before her. "As you wish," she answered lightly as she took a bite. "Why have you requested an audience with me?"

 _As if you don't already know._ Alec fortified himself with some of his legendary patience. She obviously did not want to be reminded that she had come to them for help, but if she wanted to try to maintain the pretense that she held the advantage this morning, he would allow it, but only just. He took the chair opposite of her, squinting into the sun for a moment, as she had no doubt intended when she had taken her own position. He wondered uncharitably if she had deliberately moved the seats to achieve the desired effect.

"When my parabatai came to tell me that you had come to Morgenstern Manor to seek refuge from what had happened in the Seelie Court, he said that you had intimated that now that both of our peoples are being forced to start over in the ashes of our homes, the time has come to mend past wounds." Alec helped himself to a waffle and lifted his knife to start cutting it. "Today we will discuss how we might begin that process and heal the division between our races."

The Queen shook her head as she picked at the rind on a slice of orange. "You and I both know that there is only one way to end the strife between the Nephilim and Fey. You must dissolve the Cold Treaty once and for all."

 _Well, at least we can agree on that,_ Alec sighed internally with relief. But he would need to stay on his toes if he was going to successfully negotiate the terms with a Queen of Faerie. He needed to somehow do the impossible and at least break even, if not come out on top of the deal.

"Breaking down the terms of the Cold Treaty will not be something that the Clave does lightly," Alec warned. "It was voted in to exact retribution for a grievous wrong done by the Seelie."

"And by one of your _own_ ," she hissed back. "Sebastian Morgenstern had as much to do with that as my mother did, if not more, and yet I see no sanctions served against your people."

Memories of Zara, the Cohort, and the failed Downworlder registration initiative swam across his mind. It had been his own work, and ultimately the success of the New York Compact, that had finally put an end to the riotous hatred that had flared up in the wake of the Cold Peace. Without that piece of legislation, he likely never would have later won the office of the Consul, and would not have put himself in the position he was now to undo the last bit of damage caused by the Endarkened-Fey alliance.

"We suffered our own trials," he answered quietly. "And do not doubt that we have paid for Sebastian's mistakes in blood and tears every day since then." He tried not to think of all the orphans who had been left behind after the fighting. But Rafe had been one of them. The bit of waffle he was absently chewing was tasteless, but he couldn't tell if it was because he was relieving the misery of those dark years again or because Simon had swiped some of Izzy's cooking from home in addition to pilfering her wardrobe for the Queen.

He swallowed. "If you want the Clave to consider dismantling the Cold Treaty, you will need to be prepared to shut down the Rift as a sign of good faith." She started to open her mouth, no doubt to deny its existence, but he waved her off with his fork. "Don't pretend that I don't know about it." Jace had spent the better part of the last decade trying to get into the Rift, always returning to Alicante a little redder than he had left. "If even _half_ of the stories are true about what goes on there, you wouldn't even think about trying to sway me on this. If the Fey are going to be accepted back under the Accords, there is absolutely no way that the Rift can continue to operate. Every last one of its dealings are illegal under Clave law, and I will not entertain any motion that calls for clemency should you rejoin the other Downworlders under our protection. They are expected to abide by the Accords, and so will you."

Arynessa concealed her growing concern behind a cool mask that betrayed nothing. _Destroy the Rift!_ She felt guilt roll through her stomach as she thought about what that would do to Sol. What it would do to their relationship. She needed time to think.

"The Rift shelters my people from many threats," she deflected carefully. "If you deprive them of their refuge, would you then allow them to come here? To find safety within your borders from my brother and the Unseelie who seek to destroy us? The Rift is the closest thing we have to a home while the Seelie Court remains buried under my brother's treachery. It may take years for us to excavate and repair the tunnels to their former glory."

Alec poured himself a second cup of black coffee without remembering when he had even had time to finish the first. _She's trying to stay ahead_. He could tell that something about closing the Rift had struck a nerve, and he admired her deft manoeuvring to get herself out of that corner while still trying for another concession. He decided to counter with one of his own.

"I'm sure that a safe place could be set aside for any of the Seelie who were willing to seek refuge within our borders, but I think they were be far more comfortable in the long run if they were back on familiar ground." He decided to toss her a poisoned apple of sorts and see how she liked the taste. "Blights have recently appeared in many of the old Fey territories, and the curses laid down by your people prevent my Nephilim from investigating the source. If you were to find the source of the sickness and work to cure it, I'm sure there would be little objection to the Seelie reclaiming what was once theirs and making it their home once more until the Court can be restored." _And if you don't fix it, have fun living there_.

"Those territories are just as accessible to the Unseelie," the Queen protested hotly. "You would send us to our deaths if they were to discover that we had returned."

He gently sprinkled a helping of granola over a small bowl of blueberry yogurt and tried not to grin. Unless he was very much mistaken, he was certain that he was gaining the upper hand.

"You forget, your Highness, that everything we are discussing is contingent on the dissolution of the Cold Treaty. If it were no longer in effect, you would, of course, have the full protection of the Clave while you cleansed the old territories, and Centurions would be tasked with guarding whatever temporary settlements you cared to inhabit within Idris while you worked."

"So that you could cage us like animals?" Her voice had taken on a wary edge. He could see that she knew she was losing ground.

"So that we could shield you from any attacks, domestic or foreign. Not all will be pleased to see the Fey return to the fold."

The Seelie Queen snorted and pushed away her untouched waffle. "This is impossible."

"No," Alec said firmly, unwilling to lose her now. "If you had seen what I had seen in the last few weeks, you would believe that anything is possible." He set down his spoon. "Our world is in a great state of flux right now – it's up to _us_ to take advantage of the upheaval and use it to do something good." He ran his hand back through his dark hair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. " _Someone_ has to take the first step if we're ever going to fix what our predecessors broke." His voice wavered with the intensity of his need. "Help me do this. Save your people. _Please_."

Sunlight sparkled off the Seelie crown as the Queen tilted her head to one side curiously to regard the man who sat across from her with all the strength of the Nephilim behind him, yet who could beg so humbly for a resolution to a problem that was not of his own making. A man who had come to her without the trappings of his office, without the arrogance that so often marked his kind.

"You are… a very unusual Shadowhunter, Alexander Lightwood," she admitted hesitantly.

He allowed himself a tiny grin, and he heard the dryness in his voice when he answered, "That's what I keep hearing." He sipped from his coffee mug and set it back down. "Can you work with an unusual Shadowhunter, your Highness? Can we fix what should never have been broken?"

Fear warred with hope within her. What price would she pay for her decisions here? She took a deep breath. _I'm sorry, my love._

"An end to the Cold Peace?"

"And the closure of the Rift," Alec affirmed.

The faint bob of her throat was all that betrayed her trepidation about what that would mean between herself and Solarius. Whatever the cost to her personally, she would have to pay it for all those whom she had failed when the Court had been destroyed. "A safe haven for the Seelie who will come, and protection for those who will work to clear the old territories."

He nodded in response. "And your best spellcasters to work on healing the damage caused by these blights."

The Queen lifted her right hand to her mouth and kissed her first two fingers before leaning forward to press them lightly to Alec's lips. "It is agreed." He showed no sign of surprise at the unfamiliar gesture, and simply extended his hand to her to seal the deal in human fashion as well. Her grip was firm as they shook once, her violet eyes steady. Some of the tension between them dissipated when she sat back and cradled a cup of tea in her hands.

"What of my brother? He will not be held back by paper shields. It is only a matter of time before he learns that I have escaped from his trap, and he will make certain that his next attempt to capture or kill me does not fail."

Alec smiled. "I'm glad you asked." He set two fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle that carried into the orchard. Far out among the trees, well out of regular earshot even for rune-enhanced hearing, two figures emerged and started making their way toward the table.

The Seelie Queen gave him a sideways look. "You are full of surprises."

"I have to be."

Aspen's golden hair shone in the morning light as she wove through the trees, stepping lightly to avoid squashing any more of the putrefying apples under her boots than was strictly necessary. Hunter seemed intent on making his own brand of applesauce as he followed along behind her. Both teenagers were armed with matching short swords, braces of throwing knives, and twin quarter-staffs. Hunter had his favourite bow and a full quiver slung across his back, a gift from his father on his fourteenth birthday. A leather satchel dangled carelessly from his left hand, balancing and partially disguised by the cloth sack in his parabatai's right hand. Both wore full Shadowhunting gear, which for Hunter now meant donning the specially modified jacket that protected the Fortitude rune running down his back.

Aspen gave the Faerie her most dazzling Herondale smile as Hunter casually dropped the satchel next to Alec's chair.

The Queen arched her eyebrow in response. "What is this?"

Her host swept out his hand in response and indicated the two young Nephilim. "Your personal guard."

If there had been any way to squawk in a dignified manner, she would have done so. She settled for scoffing instead.

"They are _children._ "

"And those who hunt you will believe the same, your Highness, until it's much too late. Will you permit them to provide a brief demonstration of their competency? If you are unsatisfied by what you see, you are more than welcome to dismiss them from your service and we will find alternate arrangements for your protection."

Black runes covered the parabatai, courtesy of Aspen, and both stood ready to show the Queen what they were capable of together. Aspen had been _thoroughly_ warned to hold her tongue when the Queen inevitably insulted them for their age and apparent inexperience, and Alec was proud to see that his niece had actually managed to do so.

The Seelie Queen was too mature to openly roll her eyes at the absurdity of allowing children to defend her against whatever dark warriors and sorcerers Baelerithon chose to throw at her next, or in the absolute worst case scenario, from the Unseelie King himself if he chose to come and deal with her personally. But her tone betrayed her scepticism.

"Carry on."

Hunter grinned at Aspen. "Ladies first."

"Pfft," she shot back. "Age before beauty." She reached into the sack of apples and started stuffing half a dozen of them under her left arm. "You go first."

He reached over his shoulder to pull free his bow and checked the tension once before nodding to her. She waited until he had notched one of the black-fletched arrows before spinning around abruptly and throwing the first apple as hard as she could. Given that she had an unusually powerful Strength rune emblazoned across her bicep, it soared back toward the orchard in an impressive arc. Hunter's eyes followed its path and he made the swift calculations needed to intercept its course.

The arrow twanged away and found its mark cleanly, shearing through the fruit with ease. Aspen launched three more apples in rapid succession, and her parabatai continued to make fruit salad in mid-air. The last two apples flew in opposite directions, and Hunter waited until the sixth was barely ten feet from the ground before sending his final shot winging away to pin the last target to a gnarled trunk very close to where they had waited for Alec's signal.

Both teenagers turned back to where the Queen stood with her arms crossed. She didn't look impressed.

"Carnival tricks," she pronounced in a bored tone.

"Well, step right up here, don't be shy," Aspen muttered under her breath as she unsheathed her short-sword. "Win a prize for the pretty lady." Hunter had just enough time to drop his bow before Aspen launched herself at him.

He caught her wrist and side-stepped from the attack, whipping around in a blur to buy himself a second to draw his own weapon, the twin to hers.

Steel shivered and clanged as the blades met in a clash, the strokes almost too fast to follow with each Shadowhunter runed up as heavily and strongly as they were. Aspen had spared no effort in applying their Marks earlier; Alec had made it _very_ clear that they needed to give their full effort. This was the first time either of them had really felt _important_ , like they were part of the team, and they didn't want to let him down.

Back and forth, the pair darted and lunged in a stunningly beautiful dance, but the Queen barely deigned to watch. She picked up a slice of honey dew melon and nibbled at the corner of it. Alec winced inwardly and stole a glance down at the satchel at his feet. He _needed_ her to watch...

Sensing that she was losing her audience, Aspen executed a flawless back-handspring and whirled around with her hands set firmly on her hips, sword extending behind her. Alec privately marvelled at just how much she could manage to look exactly like Clary _and_ Jace at the same time.

Aspen's nostrils flared a little in annoyance. "Are you not entertained?"

"Perhaps you are not aware that I watched over Rayce as he was trained by Ezekiel to perform in precisely the same fashion for our mother. I have seen Shadowhunters fight before, little girl."

Alec cut in before Aspen could dig them into a hole. "And was it not a Shadowhunter who carved a path for you to the Seelie throne? You put your faith in Nephilim blood before, your Highness, and it did not fail you. No one could stop your brother when he led the Hunt into your mother's Court."

She faltered for a moment, caught by simple logic, but then a knowing smile crept across her heart-shaped mouth. "No _warrior_ could stop my brother that day. Baelerithon will not strike with blade nor bow if he comes."

"You told us that he sent a one of the Hunters and an Unseelie warrior last time; surely if he had spellcasters at his disposal he would have used them while he still held the element of surprise."

She shook her head. "He may have been over-confident in his allies, but I can assure you that he will not make the same mistake twice. He will know that I only escaped because of the magic I command as my birthright, strengthened by the Seelie crown. Rayce," she looked at the somewhat crestfallen Shadowhunters where they stood with their arms at their sides, weapons hanging," and these _children,_ may be well-trained in hand-to-hand combat, but how will they fare against the greatest of my kind?"

Memories of the crackling, dark power that had surrounded Malchezed as he had begun to take control of Rayce in the Seelie throne room sent a shiver running down her back. Imagining her brother leashed and mastered by Malchezed to use as he saw fit was a terrifying notion. Only her own intervention had prevented it. Suddenly decided, she reached up and lifted the Seelie crown from her head to set it down on the table next to a pitcher of orange juice that had a fine sheen of condensation across the glass.

"I will test them myself."

Aspen and Hunter exchanged a look of surprise and then shrugged at each other.

"Fine," they answered in unison.

Twin jets of flame shot outward from The Queen in response, prompting both teenagers to dive wildly to either side to avoid becoming the only roasted meat available at the clandestine breakfast.

 _Raziel! I'm glad uncle Alec told me to use pyr runes! Holy crap!_ Aspen tumbled end over end, only managing to turn it into some semblance of a roll after the first few bounces.

She rolled to her knees and hollered at the Faerie woman, not caring at all about formality or respect, "What the hell was that for?"

The Seelie Queen's laughter was low and clear as she turned slowly to her left, tracking the girl, whom she had marked as the more dangerous of the pair. "My brother's assassins will not wait for you to say that you are ready," she called out delightedly, pleased to have caught them off-guard. Fire danced across her fingers and flared ominously.

"Aww, come _on_! That's not fair!" Hunter yelled from further off to the right. He had left his bow in the grass near the table, much to his chagrin. "I think we'll get in trouble if we hurt you, but you don't seem too concerned about hurting _us_."

The Faerie took a few quick steps away from the table to stand guard over the bow where it lay. Excitement gleamed in her eyes as she kept watch for their next move. "My people are often called the Fair Folk, but please allow me to assure you that the appellation has much to do with our appearance and very little to do with our regard for the rules of engagement."

Aspen ripped open one of the Velcro-sealed cargo pockets on her pants and pulled out her stele. "Yeah, well, we know how to cheat, too," she huffed. She sketched a quick _mendelin_ and vanished. A moment later, Hunter followed her lead and winked out of sight as well. The Queen's smile widened.

A rustle of grass whispered in the quiet of the morning, and the Queen gestured imperiously, sending another bolt of fire arcing toward the disturbance. More trails rippled through the grass, and she moved with them, targeting each one with deadly precision.

The faint smell of charred apple wafted through the air.

The Queen narrowed her eyes and held her attack when she spotted the next trace of movement, studying it.

 _Apples. She's rolling them as a diversion._

"Clever girl," the Queen called out appreciatively. "You're learning!"

Aspen pitched her voice to carry away from where she was circling around the Queen. "Yeah, learning that Faeries talk too much when they fight."

The Queen continued to pivot on her back foot. She grudgingly admitted to herself that she had lost track of the male. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure his bow was still in the grass behind her.

It wasn't.

She whirled in surprise, her borrowed dress fanning out around her in a spill of white. _How fast_ are _they?_ She was certainly accustomed to Rayce's _shifting_ , but neither of these two appeared to have any sort of innate ability like his. _Enough playing._

A six-foot tall ring of fire roared to life around her and she pushed it out in a widening circle to clear the immediate area. As a courtesy, she dropped a gap in the wall as it blew past the table were Alec was very carefully staying out of the fight. It was apparently _his_ turn to ignore the demonstration, but she didn't have time to see what he was smoothing out across the tablecloth.

The sharp snap of a bowstring was all the warning she had before a black shaft whistled past her, narrowly missing her leg and plunging into the ground instead, piercing the lovely white dress. She twisted around in surprise. _How dare he!_ A second shot twanged out from a different vector, and she whirled around to confront the invisible archer with a snarl on her face.

However, she failed to account for the part of her dress that had been pinned by the first arrow. It tugged awkwardly as she tried to turn, and she stumbled. Her right hand shot out to brace herself as she fell, and a third snap of that damnable bow signalled the flight of another shaft that buried itself in the ground within the tangle of her dress. She honestly thought she could feel the mocking tone of the fourth arrow as it threaded into the impossibly narrow gap between her knees, pinning her embarrassingly half-twisted on her side with her hands braced under her body.

An unseen weight suddenly barrelled into her, and the Queen screamed with a mixture of rage, humiliation, and pain as she felt strong hands grip her wrists and pull them behind her back savagely to be bound with cold iron manacles. She felt her power sputter and flicker out as she suffered the indignity of being... _sat upon_... like some common stool.

"That's enough," Alec said firmly.

Aspen immediately freed the Queen from the icy burning of the manacles and dispelled her _mendelin_ rune. She rose in one smooth motion and jerked the black-fletched shafts out of the ground in rapid succession. Hunter appeared farther out in the orchard as his own rune was cancelled, and he happily accepted the arrows from his parabatai when he rejoined her. He offered the Queen his hand to help her up, and was surprised when she reluctantly accepted it.

"No hard feelings, right?" He gave her the endearing grin he had inherited from his father, and promptly wilted under the blazing glare he received in return.

The Queen rose with a flush burning in her cheeks, and she turned away from the... _children..._ who had thoroughly humiliated her. Alec stood waiting patiently for her next to the table. The plates and bowls had been pushed to one side to make room for a large sheaf of parchment that had been unfolded and spread across the tablecloth, and she approached him warily.

Deep blue eyes swept downward for a moment in place of a bow, and he lightly touched the document that was covered in rows and rows of looping cursive. "All it requires now is your signature, your Highness," he murmured. The curling flame emblem of the Lightwood family was stamped into a circle of red wax next to the four interlaced Cs embossed in black wax at the bottom.

 _Signed and sealed by the grace of the Angel, in my own hand, Consul Alexander Gideon Lightwood._

The Queen looked down at the agreement and quickly picked out key words. _Cold Peace. Rift. Protection. Restoration. Fey territories._ It was all here, everything they had agreed upon. _But how?_

Resting innocuously against the legs of the Consul's chair, the satchel Hunter had so casually dropped caught her eye again. It was open now, and there appeared to be at least another dozen similarly-folded charters within. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she darted a quick glance between the attaché and the table.

 _How many possible outcomes was he prepared for_ , she wondered belatedly. _How much more could I have bargained for?_ She sighed internally and conceded that she had most definitely been outmanoeuvred by the impressively cunning Consul. So neatly done, arranging for the boy to only drop off the possible agreements after the negotiations were complete to avoid tipping his hand, and then rifling through them to find the one that matched what they had discussed while she was distracted with the 'demonstration'.

The Queen of the Seelie Court looked at the leader of the Nephilim who stood so calmly before her and saw him in a new light. She gave him a grudging nod. "You... would have done well among my kind, Consul."

Alec noted her use of his title and understood it as the mark of respect it was intended to be. "I still intend to," he assured her, making it clear that this would not be the last time he would have dealings with the Fey.

While she poured over the agreement to ensure that everything was properly in order before signing, Alec pulled Aspen and Hunter aside to give her some privacy.

"I'm very proud of you both right now," he told them quietly. Aspen felt a thrill of pride shoot through her and she exchanged a lazy smirk with Hunter. He gave her a silent thumbs-up as Alec continued, "But this is only just the beginning. I was quite serious when I said I was trusting you with the fate of both our races."

The teenagers sobered up at the sharpness Consul's tone. There was an underlying current of desperation that they didn't fail to notice. "You must protect the Queen at _any cost._ If she is captured or killed, we will lose everything I've spent the last decade working toward. I don't care what you have to do – _You_. _Must. Not. Fail._ "

"We won't," Aspen swore, and Hunter echoed her fervently.

Alec gave them both a wry smile. "Good." He shot a glance back over his shoulder. "I hope there's still some _real_ breakfast left when we get back to the manor."

"If that's the last piece of bacon, I'd suggest you drop it and back away, boy," Zeke growled at Jace across the counter in the kitchen of Morgenstern Manor. He crossed his sinewy arms over his scarred chest threateningly and leaned back against the black marble slab near the coffeemaker, completely unconcerned that he was still wearing little more than boxer-briefs in company.

Jace gaped at him and froze with his left hand still hovering over the empty plate that was left with nothing more than a grease-spotted paper towel. " _Boy_? Not that I like to say this out loud, but I'm 42 years old."

"Exactly." Zeke had been even more surly than usual after Cassius' abrupt departure that morning, and his patience was growing thin. He didn't like the feeling he had gotten from his mate about going to meet with this Jiahao guy. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sera knew something, but she was keeping quiet on it. So he was left to stew in his foul mood.

Daringly, Jace gestured at Zeke with the crispy strip of bacon in question. "You know, when the Clave sentenced you to Stripping, I don't think they meant it _literally._ Do you _ever_ get dressed?"

Zeke bared his teeth at Alicante's golden boy in the approximation of a smile. "Jealous? I'm nearly thirty years older than you and I still don't look a day older than Rayce."

Rayce stayed well-clear of being dragged into their budding snipe-fest. He couldn't stop worrying about Sera. He didn't like the dark circles under her eyes, and he wished he knew what to do to help her. His jaw ached where she had accidentally punched him earlier in her blind terror, but he'd gladly take another hundred blows if it meant she could be safe. After Cassius had vanished and Zeke had slouched back to the east wing to brood, she had told him what had happened in the dream world with Bael. His blood had run cold, and he had begged her to promise not to go hunting through her dreams for any more clues.

Simon poked Clary, interrupting her idle sketching, and muttered under his breath, "Is Zeke immortal, or something?"

"I doubt it," she whispered back. She shaded in a bit more of her drawing, passing the time while they all waited for Alec and the kids to get back from his meeting with the Seelie Queen. Her first reaction to Alec's suggestion that Aspen and Hunter be assigned as shadows to protect the Queen was to put her foot down and flatly refuse. There was no doubt in her mind that the private vendetta between the new King of the Unseelie Court and his sister would continue until one or the other was dead, and she didn't want her daughter anywhere near the Queen. That was when she had caught herself falling into the same trap that her own mother had fallen into.

 _I can't just lock her up and pretend the world can't touch her,_ Clary had admitted to herself. She was proud of the daughter she had raised with Jace, and as much as it had hurt to do so, she had let Aspen make her own decision about whether or not she wanted the dangerous assignment. Of course she had taken it; there too much of her father in her to hope that she would leave it to someone older and more experienced, but it was just something that Clary would have to live with. She didn't want to repeat Jocelyn's mistakes.

Thinking about it drew her thoughts back to Cristina and her daughters, still closeted away upstairs. The retired Shadowhunter-turned-cop hadn't let them out of her sight since arriving, and she kept a fiercely protective watch over them on the rare occasions that they joined the other guests. Lucas was sneaking out with Aspen, and Clary had already noticed the growing connection between the pair. _History repeats itself_ , she mused. She made a mental note to try to talk to Cristina later and see if she could provide a bit of insight into how futile it could be to try keeping your kid away from the Shadow World.

Simon fretted quietly next to her. "What if they don't like my waffles? Do you think I sent enough fruit? Do Faeries drink orange juice?" He gasped. "Isn't there something about citrus being bad for Faeries? Is that for _our_ Faeries, or just something I read in some book series about the fictional kind of Faeries?" He covered his face with his hands. "Did I just accidentally _kill_ the Queen of the Seelie Court with Tropicana?" When his best friend failed to respond, he shook her arm. " _Clary!"_

"The Fey have no quarrel with citrus," Mark assured him from the table. As if to make his point, he lifted his glass of orange juice and sipped from it.

"Oh, thank _God_ ," Simon sighed with relief.

Mark had been fairly withdrawn from the others, although not impolitely so. He responded pleasantly enough when engaged in conversation, but often spent time alone on the grounds of the manor. It was strange to be back among the Nephilim, but he was grateful to have somewhere safe to shelter his family from any more Hunters who might come looking to settle old scores. The Queen seemed unnaturally interested in him, but had so far refrained from summoning him to a private audience. _Miach_ , she had called him out of hearing of the others. The name brought back bitter memories.

Across the kitchen, the last of Zeke's fraying patience had finally been worn away by Jace, and he slammed his hand down on the counter, startling everyone into silence. His stormy grey eyes locked on to Sera in an accusatory stare.

" _Why_ was he so bothered by going to see that Faerie, Sera?" Small shifts of discomfort rippled around the room; they all knew which 'he' Zeke meant.

Sera couldn't quite meet his eyes, settling on the twisted rune scar along the side of his neck instead. Guilt tore at her. "Zeke..." she started hesitantly, "I can't... It's not for me to say."

"But you _knew._ " The betrayal in his voice made her shrink inside. He jabbed a finger at her. "You _knew_ , and you still told him he had to go."

Rayce lifted his hand to interrupt his tutor. "Zeke, please..."

 _Selfish,_ a voice whispered in Sera's mind.

 _I know,_ she answered silently.

Before the confrontation could go any further, the doorbell rang and seven heads turned toward the front hall in identical, mystified confusion. Alec and the Seelie Queen would surely return through the veranda doors that led in to the kitchen from the back of the manor, and they certainly weren't expecting anyone else to arrive.

"I'm going to disconnect that goddamn doorbell," Sera swore under her breath as she stalked along the hallway to the front entry, although she was inwardly grateful for a reason to break the awkward tension. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes tiredly. When she and Rayce had accepted the deed to Morgenstern Manor as a wedding gift from Alec, they had kind of thought they were going to be settling into a quiet life in the countryside. _I guess the problem with owning a legacy estate is that everyone knows where it is._

An oddly familiar, scrawny leg wearing denim cut-offs was visible through one of the narrow windows that framed the double doors, and Sera felt her eyebrow lift in disbelief. _No way._

She yanked the door open and gawked incredulously.

" _Steven?_ "

Her friend threw his hands out wide and grinned from ear to ear. "Sera!" He tripped on the slightly raised threshold and fell head-first into her waiting arms.

She helped him get his feet back under himself and held him by his shoulders. "How did you even _get_ here?"

He jerked his thumb behind him. "I hitched a ride."

Sera gasped when she saw Jem waiting quietly at the edge of the porch. He wore loose, white trousers and a matching shirt that was cut in a distinctly Asian fashion, each piece carefully stitched with red mourning runes. The streak of silver through his dark hair seemed even brighter than it had on Wrangel Island, but Sera noted sadly that it was the only thing that seemed brighter. The Shadowhunter's face was carefully composed into a neutral expression that masked the grief he was no doubt suffering, and his eyes no longer twinkled with the same spark she had seen when she had watched him study Hunter's Fortitude rune with such fascination.

" _Jem_ ," she breathed. He golden eyes flicked back and forth between the two for a minute, still not comprehending how this was possible, or why the unlikely pair was even together.

Steven squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. "You're probably too distracted by trying to figure out how we got here to remember to invite us in, but let's assume you did, okay? Jem has a loaner horse from the Silent Brothers for a while, so we left him chilling in your stable with the white one, okay?"

"We don't have a horse," she answered absently. She turned around mechanically and led the way back to the kitchen. Trying to process hearing Steven say 'Silent Brothers' so casually was stalling out her brain. "And how do you know about the Brotherhood?"

"Oh, my God, Sera," he gushed. "Jem's been teaching me to do their Jedi mind-trick so I can see better. Apparently, all of my freaky-ness might be an extension of having a bit of Sight!"

She threw a look over her shoulder. "Surely not _all_ of it. And if you could see better, you either would have stopped wearing denim shorts or stopped skipping leg day."

They crossed into the kitchen and all of the quiet conversation came to an abrupt halt when Jem brought up the rear. A hushed chorus of assorted ' _Jem_ 's floated across the room, and Sera saw the former Silent Brother tense up in response.

Steven either sensed the shift in moods or saw it with his new-found Sight, and he worked quickly to divert attention away from his friend.

"Seriously, Sera. I'm telling you, I can see way better now. Try it! Throw something at me and I'll catch it!"

She lifted her eyebrow in response, and briefly wondered if the 'trip' over the front entry threshold was as accidental as it had appeared. She looked down at the counter and scooped up a grapefruit from the bowl, weighing it consideringly. All eyes had turned from Jem to her, and she caught the faint shake of his head that might have meant, _Pick something lighter._ The possibility of an intentional groping remained firmly in her mind, and she stuck with her original decision.

Steven was psyching himself up, muttering under his breath, "I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, the Force is with me..." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. Everyone else seemed to lean forward slightly in anticipation.

Sera lobbed the grapefruit at him.

The grapefruit squelched against his white T-shirt.

A collective sigh rippled across the room.

"Aww. It works at home."

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. "Next time, my young Padawan. I feel like we need to be introduced." He extended his hand obliviously. "I'm Simon. Simon L-"

He was cut off by Cassius teleporting back into the kitchen, not expecting to find it quite so full, and the tip of the great wing caught Steven a glancing blow as the Faerie unfurled it from around himself.

The grapefruit hit the floor again.

"Holy _shit_! Sera!" His milky-white eyes widened in excitement. Jem had speculated that the mostly-Mundane's Sight worked better when there was more to see from the supernatural world. Seeing Sera had always been easy; it was no wonder, with as much angelic blood as she had running through her veins. A grapefruit was, regrettably, only a super food, not supernatural, and it didn't register as well on his budding radar. One of the Greater Fey, though…

"This is the _best_!"

Simon patted his arm. "It gets better, actually. Trust me."

Cassius did not seem to notice that he had clipped the Mundane with his wing, and nor did he pay any attention to the surprisingly full kitchen. He only had eyes for Zeke, and in a rare expression of public affection, he took the Shadowhunter's scarred hand in his own. They did not exchange any words, but the line of Zeke's shoulder's relaxed and the intensity of the look they shared made the others turn their eyes elsewhere to give the couple some privacy.

"Hey now, here we go," Jace said excitedly as he caught sight of Alec striding up the back lawn with the Seelie Queen on his arm. Hunter and Aspen brought up the rear, both of them moving with the careful grace of a watchful patrol on duty. From the moment the Queen had accepted them into her service, they could no longer afford the luxury of assuming safety simply because they were on familiar ground. They would need to stay alert until the Unseelie threat was neutralized.

Alec held the glass veranda door open for the Queen and she swept into the kitchen in a swirl of white fabric that had been slashed through by Hunter's arrows.

"Cassius," she exclaimed curiously.

"And just about everyone else I could imagine," Alec said under his before he caught sight of Steven slouched next to Simon and Jem hovering at the very back of the crowd. He blinked once to see if he was mistaken, and then just mentally banged his head against the wall when the mostly-Mundane didn't vanish. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted now. It would just have to keep.

He fished out the signed and sealed agreement he had negotiated with the Seelie Queen and laid it down on the kitchen table, well away from the ring of condensation left by Mark's glass of orange juice. "This is it. The beginning of the end of the Cold Peace."

"Woah," Simon whispered.

Cassius stared openly at the signatures of both Consul and Queen at the bottom and felt a wave of warm appreciation for the leader of the Nephilim. Whatever sacrifices he had had to make with Jiahao would be worth it if it meant reuniting the races. _And whatever sacrifices are yet to come,_ he thought grimly.

Alec set his hands on the table and leaned forward. "But if we want to have any hope of convincing the Clave to accept this, we need to discover the cause of whatever is happening with the blights, and the Unseelie must be stopped." He paused and winced for a moment. "And we must put an end to the threat posed by the Unbound Hunters."

"What I have learned this day may provide insight to that end," Cassius offered stiffly.

Sera shivered at the memory of Baelerithon's touch in the dream world. "And I have a pretty good idea of who's causing the blights, if not how or why." She gave them a watered-down version of her dream, telling them about how she had discovered the new Unseelie King kneeling at the epicentre of a blight circle that was no doubt reflected in the waking world. She related his strange words, how he had regretted not being able to _feed_ on her in the dreamscape, and how drained the land had looked and felt.

The Greater Faerie listened to her in silence with the others, nodding occasionally, but confusion still creased his angular features when she finished. "I do not yet understand how Baelerithon could possibly wreak so much damage on the land, but I am certain that it is tied to his connection to the Eternal Forest. I have much to tell."

He carefully outlined what he had learned from Jiahao's memories about the initial corruption of the Forest centuries earlier, and the reasons behind the inception of the Hunt. He finished by sharing the terms of the old Queen's deal with the exiled Faerie Lord, earning himself a withering stare from Arynessa.

"You would presume to make promises in my name?"

"And in my own, my Queen." He had held back his own vow to serve as collateral if she would not honour her mother's agreement, not wishing to endure the shame it would bring him. He could not bear to have Zeke know that part of his past.

"Then we had best hope that his research yields results. Show us what he has devised."

Without further comment, he produced two pages of carefully-preserved parchment. The first showed the list of material components required to create the potion, and the other detailed the brewing process.

The Queen's brow raised when she neared the bottom of the first page. "Pure angel blood?"

"No doubt to balance the strength of the demonic presence that now inhabits the Forest, my Queen," Cassius answered.

"And where, exactly, do you propose we acquire that?"

Sera shrugged and held out her wrist gamely. "I mean, I don't mind making a donation to the cause..."

"No." Cassius shook his head. "However angelic your heritage may be, you still have your Shadowhunter side. You are still Mortal."

Simon looked a little nervous as he raised his hands. "I am _not_ summoning Raziel again. One-two-three, not It."

"Don't you guys keep like, a stash of this stuff somewhere?" Steven's expression was hopeful. "Like, an 'In case of demonic emergency, break glass' kind of thing?" He received a quiet low-five from Simon in response.

Jace ran his fingers though the wave of his hair in annoyance. "You don't get it. Angel blood is _super_ rare. The only thing I can even think of it being used for is..." He trailed off as his mind raced ahead of his mouth for a change.

"...making genetically-altered mutant babies?" Simon supplied helpfully.

Clary punched him none too gently in the arm. " _I'm_ one of those mutant babies."

Alec, as usual, stood in for the voice of reason. "To forge an _aegis_ , like the one Jace used to kill Asmodeus. The Adamant Citadel is our best option here."

"You _will_ read the Codex one day," Jace hissed at Simon.

"But then why would I need you?"

"I can go," Clary offered at the same time as Sera. Both women looked at each other in surprise, and Clary nodded. "We can go together. If it's going to be anyone, it _should_ be us."

Alec agreed and gave them his blessing. He hoped that his newly-strengthened ties to the Citadel would help smooth their way. Cleophas had told him that the only way for the Iron Sisters to be innocent of treason for providing them with weapons from their armoury was to make sure that he won, and he had.

"That may satisfy one half of the problem," the Seelie Queen admitted, "but the corruptisia blooms may be just as difficult to acquire. No Shadowhunter will survive that deep in Faerie."

"But I will," Cassius said quietly. "I do not believe that this opportunity has been presented to us now, when our two races so desperately need one another, by chance. Neither of us could do this without the other." He thought of the twisted landscape of Deep Faerie and the monsters it concealed. "I will go."

"With me." Zeke's grey eyes were thunderous. "You can't keep leaving me here like some sort of invalid. You _need_ me."

"My Zeke..." Cassius felt his heart tighten in his chest. The fatalistic part of him knew how this had to end, knew that Jiahao's parting words were truer than the exiled Seelie Lord had known. _Heads I win, tails you lose, Cassius._ "Listen to the Queen. You cannot withstand the effects of Deep Faerie. I must walk this path alone."

Zeke's lip twisted up in disgust and he pulled away from his mate. "Maybe you don't recall making a promise to stay together no matter what came between us, but I do." He pushed himself away from the counter. "Come find me when you remember what you said to me all those years ago." He stalked out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

The silence that followed his abrupt departure was excruciatingly awkward, and Alec cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'll try to contact Magnus and see if he will be able to get his hands on the more common ingredients and mix this up once we get those last two pieces. It might actually end up being a good thing that he's in the Spiral Labyrinth right now..."

"See to it that he is ready to act on a moment's notice, Consul," Cassius cautioned him. "The corruptisia flowers will not last long in the Mortal realm once I have returned from Faerie. And the potion itself will be incredibly unstable once it is mixed – we will need to work quickly."

"Yeah, but how do you actually _use_ this stuff?" Simon asked. "I mean, like, do we get a spray bottle and hose down the trees like some kind of magic Weed-B-Gon?"

"I have made the journey to the Eternal Forest before. I will do so again," the Faerie replied evenly.

Murmurs of concern rippled around the room, but no one dared to suggest an alternative. The Queen was eyeing Cassius suspiciously and paid little heed to the whispers of the Nephilim around her. His behaviour did not tally with what she would have expected from him when it came to his Shadowhunter mate. Something more had transpired when he had gone to seek out Jiahao.

Steven elbowed Simon gently in the ribs and said quietly under his breath, "This is just like being at the Council of Elrond!"

"Definitely," Simon agreed just as quietly so that Clary couldn't hear him. "Apparently, one _does_ simply walk into Mordor if one is Greater Fey."

"So, aside from keeping Magnus on speed dial," Jace ventured, "what are _we_ supposed to do while we wait?"

Alec sighed heavily and lifted his agreement with the Seelie Queen from the table. He gave his parabatai a dry look.

"You keep me alive when I present this to the Clave."


	12. Chapter 12

_**12**_

Magnus sighed and drummed his fingers along the well-varnished edge of the heavy walnut table in front of him. "I still don't understand why I need to have a babysitter. It's not like I haven't been to the Spiral Labyrinth before."

The young warlock who had been assigned to keep watch over Magnus and Seraphine snorted as he aimed his finger upward at the ceiling, targeting a spider as it crept across the scalloped cornices. A faint trail of orange sparks shot out from his finger and zapped the spider, sending it spinning down on a thread of silk before it recovered. "You _do_ realize that by calling me a babysitter, you're actually calling _yourself_ a baby, right?" His greased-back dark hair didn't quite manage to disguise the draconian horns that curved away from his high forehead. "And I'm not a babysitter. I'm -" he cleared his throat and adopted the most pompous tone he could manage, "A personal assistant and guide, extended as a courtesy by the Headmistress herself."

"Guide," Magnus scoffed back. "I was coming here before your great-great-great-and-then-some grandmother was born."

"Yeah, well, Tessa Gray has always been nice enough to keep an eye on you for us, at least as long as I've been around. Why isn't she here this time? _She's_ a lot nicer than _you_ are."

 _Tessa._

Magnus swallowed.

"Because _I'm_ here instead," Seraphine lilted from behind the cover of the giant tome she was reading. She lowered it back down to the table on top of two other books that were laying open to marked pages. "And I certainly don't recall being branded as a miscreant who needed watching." She darted a quick look at Magnus to make sure he was okay with the unexpected mention of his friend. "It's not as if anyone would actually _steal_ any of these books, Mr. Barnes."

"Wouldn't they?" The young acolyte peered meaningfully at Magnus.

"I _borrowed_ them," the older warlock protested. When he received an incredulous set of eyebrows in return, he sighed again. He had been doing a lot of sighing lately. " _Borrowed_ without permission. I brought them _back._ "

Their watchdog gave him a dark look. "Eventually."

Seraphine reached across the table and patted the boy's hand affectionately. "I'm terribly sorry, Donnie, but I wonder if I might trouble you for a spot of tea? We'll stay right here until you get back." She fluttered her eyelashes at him delicately, grateful for the tiny but powerful glamour Magnus had laid over her scarlet eyes to prevent anyone from looking too closely. It might have been possible to pass them off as her warlock mark, but neither of them was willing to risk it. He had done a tricky bit of magic that inverted the signature of his work so that it was nearly invisible to see or sense.

Donnie looked affronted. "Tea?"

"Yes, dear. Please and thank you." It had been almost impossible to keep the subject of their research a secret, and both of them were at their wit's end with being tailed from one library vault to the next. Quite aside from disguising Seraphine's hellish eyes, Magnus had had to act as a diversion on more than one occasion to draw attention away from her as one of the fiery fits flared up. She hadn't had another one quite as bad as the one on the border of Peru again, but her private rooms had been warded and fire-proofed as a precaution. Neither one of them wanted to risk telling the Headmistress that there was a very small, very polite, English time-bomb walking around the Spiral Labyrinth.

Donnie shrugged. "Fine. But I think I'll stay right here." He lifted his hands and crooked his fingers. Orange light glowed for a moment and then a silver tray appeared on the table, complete with a floral-patterned china teapot, cups on saucers, and...

"You see, now that," Magnus pointed to the pool of milk and sugar cubes that had filled the shallow tray, "is caused by insufficient specificity of focus. You concentrated on summoning milk and sugar, but failed to account for the need to have them contained. Also, you should use a bit more of a snap – it really gets the job done with _style._ "

To demonstrate his point, Magnus snapped his fingers and a second tea service appeared in perfect order, along with what looked like an expertly-brewed cappuccino. The artful pattern drizzled on top of the foam looked suspiciously like a cartoon character sticking out its tongue. Magnus added a sprinkle of caramel flakes and sipped at it triumphantly. "Ahh... tastes like sweet satisfaction."

"Show off," Donnie muttered. "You know, I could _actually_ help, like I'm supposed to, instead of just fetching tea and re-shelving books when you've left them laying around. I'd say that judging by the titles of your selections, you might need my help."

Magnus gave him a challenging look. "Is that right?"

"Oh, come on. ' _Progressive Disorders and You: A Practical Guide', 'Devolutionary Theory',_ and _'Health and Hellth: Best Practices for Warlocks'._ " He waved his hands at the mess across three tables in the study room they were using. "Not to mention all of the reading on basic warlock physiology and a subtle, but not undetectable, amount of fire-proofing on _her_ rooms."

Seraphine tensed, and her cat ears stiffened nervously, but the young warlock lifted his hand soothingly. "Look, believe it or not, the Headmistress actually assigned one of her _best_ , _not_ one of her least favourites, to help you guys."

"Oh, really?" Magnus' slitted eyes glanced down at where the sugar had dissolved into the puddle of milk on the first tray.

"Yeah, yeah," Donnie waved him off. "So I'm a little behind on my conjuring, whatever; I'm working on it. I've been keeping busy with my _true_ passion. You _do_ realize that Catarina brought you two straight to the infirmary when she Portalled you in, right? It's not exactly a secret that one of you was sick when you got here, and since you still haven't left and you're still ploughing through the healing sections, I'm guessing you haven't got it figured out yet."

Magnus looked at him curiously and crossed his arms, still not entirely convinced. His voice became curt and businesslike. "Studying healing, then?"

"Yep."

"Want to help us?"

"Yep."

"Pretty good at assessments?"

"Yep."

"Prepared to suffer an unpleasant death if you breathe a word of what's going on?"

"Yep – wait, what?" Donnie looked bewildered.

Magnus flashed him a dazzling grin. "Too late, you've already agreed." He dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. "The pact is sealed."

The young warlock couldn't tell if Magnus was being serious or not. He shook his head disbelievingly. "I think I'm beginning to understand all the whispers about you around here."

"As long as everyone remembers why they're whispering," Magnus acknowledged cheerfully, his words completely at odds with the underlying threat. "I didn't become the High Warlock of Brooklyn for nothing."

Seraphine cleared her throat. "If we could please get back to the matter at hand, gentlemen?"

"Absolutely!" Her brother dispelled the intricate glamour that had been woven over her eyes, unveiling the brilliant scarlet pupils and slightly darker irises that surrounded them. Donnie recoiled in his chair.

"Woah!"

Magnus snorted. "Is that your clinical assessment?"

Donnie glared in response and then collected himself for a moment before peering more closely. He felt his lips part in amazement when he observed that the colouring was not static; there was a constant, subtle shifting, as if Seraphine's eyes were only a window through which to peer into something much more sinister beyond. "Extraordinary," he breathed.

Seraphine carefully held her emotions in check, but it was hard to fight the sting of tears that threatened to rise at being... _examined_... like she was some sort of _thing._ She couldn't have helped what had happened to her on Wrangel Island; it was simply unreasonable to imagine that she could handle such awesome, raw power without being affected by it. And if what the Nephilim were saying was true - that the damage to the world's wards might have been permanently healed - then she was more than happy to have made the sacrifice. But it was still up to her to live with the consequences, whatever they might be.

She stoically endured Donnie's probing as he asked a string of questions. She had no choice but to tell the truth when he enquired as to when the symptoms had first presented, which led to her outlining the entire story of what had happened to her inside the ellipse of black runes on Wrangel Island. She started seriously worrying about _his_ eyes as they grew wider and wider in amazement.

"I heard the Consul's address over the Projectors the morning after," he wondered quietly before jerking his thumb at Magnus. "But I thought it was _him_ that did it. You know, 'cause the Consul was there and all. I think everyone just figures this was yet another one of Magnus' Magnificent Marvels."

"Better to let them keep thinking that until we can get to the bottom of this," Magnus warned protectively. He tapped his chin lightly. "Although I _do_ like the sound of that..."

The conversation shifted into practical questions about whether or not there was anything that made the symptoms worsen, and that was when both Magnus and Seraphine fell silent. There was a limit as to how much they were willing to divulge on that particularly sensitive matter.

Magnus fiddled with one of the buttons on his rather plain black dress shirt. His sister had stubbornly insisted that he choose more conservative attire while they were in the Spiral Labyrinth to avoid raising the Headmistress' ire unnecessarily. He chose his words carefully. "The progression advanced more rapidly when she was exposed to somewhat more demonically-aligned texts."

The younger warlock let the answer slide without prying further, perhaps hesitant to push Magnus when it finally seemed like they were trusting him. "And was there anything that causes any sort of improvement or reprieve?"

"Nothing," Magnus said hopelessly.

Seraphine racked her memory for something that might help. Donnie watched her and nodded encouragingly. "Come on. Take me through it. Tell me about a time when it was better."

She squeezed her eyes shut. _When wasn't I bursting into flames every other hour?_ "Right after we came back. I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me, aside from how I looked."

"Where were you?"

"Alicante. The Lightwoods were kind enough to offer their hospitality, and I stayed on because Sera's wedding was coming up. I got so busy helping... I don't think I can even remember being troubled by it at all."

"When did you first, ah..." he searched for a delicate way to put it, "experience an incendiary event?"

She mulled it over thoughtfully. "Not until I returned home to Toronto."

Magnus cracked a smile. "There it is. Maple syrup and hockey make it worse."

Seraphine looked daggers at him, but Donnie completely ignored the comment, possibly because he hadn't even heard it. He rubbed his hands together idly and stared off into the space between two of the glossy-topped tables strewn with books. "Interesting."

He appeared to be deep in thought, and the other two waited more or less impatiently for him to snap out it it. Magnus waved his hand in front of the other man's eyes. "Hello? You don't just get to say ' _i_ _nteresting'_ and then clam up."

"You do it all the time," Seraphine put in as quietly as possible. Her brother scowled in response.

Donnie laced his fingers together eagerly. "Have you considered the effect of the demon towers?"

Both of the guests stared back at him, dumbfounded, and the young warlock shrugged in response. "What? I can't be smart because I haven't blown out my first century candle yet?"

The two half-siblings had never looked more alike than they did in that moment when they gave him twin looks of annoyance.

"Okay, okay," he said hastily, "I'm just _saying_... if you want to buy yourself some time, it sounds like your best bet is to get back inside the sphere of influence of the demon towers. If there's... _something_... trying to get a hold of you from the realms of Hell, then the towers will serve as a natural line of defense and make it harder to reach you. It'll at least slow, if not stop, whatever's going on so that you can get some breathing room to work on a solution."

Seraphine's brow fell. "I can't just impose myself on someone indefinitely." She looked at her brother and their thoughts raced ahead together along the same lines. It would certainly be too much to ask to stay with him in the Consul's residence; it was unheard of for Downworlders to stay in the city, with the exception of...

"The councillors." Magnus clapped his hands excitedly. "You have to take the warlock seat on the council."

She looked aghast. "You want me to _what?_ "

"Yes! Dumb and Dumber got themselves thrown off the council for what they did with Everett to trap Sera under the Gard! The warlock seat is vacant right now! Oh!" He blew a kiss to ceiling. "Sera was right. Everything happens for a reason."

"But I can't... I couldn't possibly... " she stammered. "I haven't the faintest idea of what I'd be doing!"

"Then you'll fit in perfectly," Magnus assured her with a wink. "No one ever _wants_ these seats when they come open - trust me. It's dreadfully boring to sit in session. But the job comes with a permanent residence in the city and all-you-can-eat crab cakes during caucus."

Doubt remained firmly etched across her features. "I would be closing the door on my own prison," she said glumly. "If he's right, I won't be able to leave the city without starting all of... _this_... again."

Magnus reached across the table and took her small hands in his own. "Not a prison. A home. And you won't be alone."

He could see her resistance starting to crumble and he patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry. I can get you that seat in a snap." To accentuate his point, he snapped his fingers in a dazzle of blue sparks.

A fire message flashed onto the table in front of him.

All three warlocks stared at it in surprise.

"Did you mean to do that?" Donnie asked incredulously.

Magnus snatched up the folded missive and gave the younger man a significant look. "Now you'll never know." He opened the message. The sight of his husband's relaxed scrawl sent a flush of warmth through his heart that was quickly doused when he read the accompanying list of material components and instructions for brewing.

 _What new horror is this?_

The letter concluded by asking him to begin preparations for the concoction, and to remain in the Spiral Labyrinth on standby for the final ingredients. Magnus immediately resolved to get topside at least long enough to get a cell signal so that he could call Alec for the full story. It would appear that he had been gone too long.

 _How we immortals forget that days fall off the calendar even when we fail to mark them_ , he thought to himself sadly. It was bitterly ironic that he had endless centuries ahead of him and yet no time to lose. Seraphine would have to go ahead without him and begin to test the protection of the demon towers, and he... well...

He grimaced. "It looks like I'll need to pay a visit to the Headmistress after all."

 _**Author's note: Apologies for the horrific delay in posting. This was initially all one, LONG chapter, but I've split it into its two more logical pieces instead for 12 and 13. Life got pretty hectic for a while here, and I'm staring down a 15-day stretch at work, so I'll still be running short on free time for the foreseeable future. I'm brutal, I know. D: Rest assured that I continue to make progress!_

 _Thanks are in order once more to Tara for continuing to Name All The Things – Donnie owes you one._


	13. Chapter 13

_**13**_

" _Ignis aurum probat."_

Sera peeked over the edge of the chasm that carved its way down to a sluggishly-churning river of lava and watched a few drops of her blood disappear. She hastily stepped back as some of the scrub under her boots crumbled away, and she wiped at the fine sheen of sweat that had beaded on her forehead, not only from the humidity of the late afternoon and the shimmering heat rising from below, but from the anxiety of speaking to the forbidding Iron Sisters. The murder of one of their order at her mother's hands was fresher than ever in her mind as she waited with Clary for the drawbridge to lower and grant them passage across the path of knives.

 _Murderess,_ a nagging whisper hissed at her.

 _Shut up,_ she growled back, clenching her teeth in annoyance as she let a quick _iratze_ heal the cut across her palm. _I didn't have anything to do with that one._

She could almost swear that she heard mocking laughter, and she actually looked around to see if there was anyone else on the volcanic plain, but there was only Clary, waiting patiently. A brilliant flash of blue light followed by the heavy release of gears across the chasm cut off any further argument with her irritating subconscious, and the drawbridge began its slow decent.

Clary turned to give Sera a bright smile in response. " _Dexteritas_ runes on, okay?"

"Yep, no problem." The younger Shadowhunter pressed her right palm to her left forearm and the curving lines of the dexterity rune stood out starkly when she took her hand away. She heard Clary exhale next to her.

"Could you... would you mind...?" Green eyes flashed with excitement and Sera grinned as she held out her hand to oblige her new friend.

Clary stared at the rune emblazoned along her own forearm by Sera's gift and traced the edges lightly with one finger. "Simply incredible," she sighed wonderingly. "You can't feel it at all."

Sera felt a pang as she remembered Marking Rayce for the first time, a _mendelin_ to hide them from Mundane eyes as they had fled from his turn-coat sister, Kylea, through the streets of Toronto. He hadn't even noticed, and she had been able to keep her secret just a little bit longer. The few times that she had runed him up for battle since then, she had seen the relief in his eyes as the Marks had appeared without the accompanying sting of a stele. His half-Faerie blood didn't particularly appreciate the sigils of Heaven, and he felt the bite of the _adamas_ more keenly than regular Shadowhunters. It had almost seemed like a mercy for her to gently lay his marriage runes upon his arm and over his heart during their wedding without the pain that he had become accustomed to while growing up under Zeke's tutelage.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Clary asked, her artist's eye picking out the hints of thought written across Sera's face.

The younger Shadowhunter looked back in surprise. "How did you know?"

"A _lot_ of experience," Clary answered wryly.

"I just… I _miss_ him," Sera admitted sheepishly. "I know I didn't even have him to begin with, and then promptly lost him, but I just..." She touched her heart, just over where her own marriage rune was hidden beneath her black tank top. "It's weird not to have him with me. And we haven't even been gone that long."

Red hair gleamed in the fading, late afternoon sun as the other woman nodded in understanding. "What you did, in that… other place… to bring him back with you – I'm not surprised that you feel his absence so keenly. You're even more connected now than you were before. It'll take some getting used to, I'd imagine." She laughed. "And, you know – you _are_ allowed to just plain miss the love of your life and husband every now and then."

Sera gave her a faint smile in response as the drawbridge settled against the lip of their side of the chasm. "I do."

Once they had crossed through the confusing path of knives and reached the smooth expanse of _adamas_ that marked the inner wall of the Citadel, they waited patiently on the black insignia of a heart pierced through by a blade. An indistinct shadow took shape within the softly-glowing silver-white wall and began to resolve into a woman's form as she drew closer on the other side. When the _adamas_ split and slid aside to allow her to greet her guests, the older Shadowhunter was relieved to find a familiar face waiting for them.

"Sister Cleophas," Clary murmured respectfully. She doubted that she would ever forget the sister who had witnessed the heavenly fire burning through Jace after his encounter with Sebastian during the ill-fated attack on the Adamant Citadel twenty-five years earlier. Cleophas had held Brother Zachariah in her arms while the flames had scorched away the taint of the _yin fen_ lingering in his blood, severing his ties to the Brotherhood in the process. She had been the last one to touch him as a Silent Brother before he had been restored to a mortal life, before he had been reborn as James Carstairs once more.

The Sister's strange, orange-hued eyes passed over each of the Nephilim women before her. "Who calls on the Iron Sisters? Speak your names," she instructed them formally.

Clary dipped her head in response. "My name is Clarissa Fairchild, and I am in good standing with the Clave."

Surprise registered on Sera's face when her friend chose not to give her Herondale surname and used her full first name. She hated using her own. "My name is Seraphina Morgenstern," she hesitated, remembering Alec's conversation with her. _And I think I'm on pretty thin ice with the Clave_. Guilt nagged at her. _Well, they don't need to know that._ "And I am in good standing with the Clave."

 _Liar,_ her mind teased.

"We do not concern ourselves with the names of husbands or fathers here, child," Cleophas told her gently. "Blood runs true to the child through their mother; a father's identity may be concealed or lost. Your name?"

She paused, thinking about Ithuriel's Shadowhunter identity, a false name to disguise his true nature. 'Ahren Castledown' had been nothing more than a play on the word for 'angel' in many languages, and 'cast down' in English. _I guess I can't fault them for calling me out on that one._ But giving them her mother's name… she felt a lump of ice build in her stomach.

"Seraphina Chasewell," she mumbled. _This is why I just go by Sera_.

The Sister's eyes widened in surprise. "Chasewell? Daughter of Meridian?"

 _Shit._

She turned her gold eyes down in shame. "Yes."

Cleophas regarded her thoughtfully, her too-long fingers lacing together as she considered. "Then I believe it is the Angel's will that has brought you within reach of the Iron Sisters after all this time, Seraphina."

"Actually," Clary broke in awkwardly, not understanding what was playing out between the other two women, "it's angel's _blood_ that brings us here." Her voice took on a more professional tone. "We are here as official envoys from the Consul to beg the release of the Adamant Citadel's supply."

Astonishment registered on the Sister's face, her strange eyes widening within the complicated, curling tattoo mask that marked her for what she was. "The blood of Heaven is not something lightly given, Clarissa Fairchild. I made the choice to aid the Consul in his exile, yes, but weapons from our armoury may be easily replaced." She looked uneasy for a moment. "What you ask is more than I may grant alone. You must plead your case to our triarchs if you are to have any hope of succeeding." She stepped aside to allow them to pass through the silver-white walls. "Come. I will send ahead to tell them of your coming so that they may convene to hear of the Consul's need."

A long courtyard stretched away on the other side of the _adamas_ wall, divided into two identical halves by a pathway of dark, interlocking stones. When Sera glanced down for a better look, she was stunned to see that the thoroughfare was actually made of carved basalt, painstakingly cut and expertly laid, then edged with glossy obsidian detailing.The effect was beautiful... but severe, not unlike the Sisters themselves. It was clear that they were making good use of their location on a volcanic plain.

The Citadel proper loomed ahead, its shining walls gleaming with pearly iridescence as the daylight faded to give way to the coming night. Columns soared upward, their faces carved with runes that had been inlaid with brilliant semi-precious stones that gleamed in a multitude of orange, red, and yellow hues. Hessonite garnet, fire opal, citrine, rubellite tourmaline, carnelian... the dazzling workmanship took Sera's breath away. She had never really thought the Adamant Citadel could be... beautiful... but it was clear that there was more to it than could be seen from outside the walls.

Cleophas pushed open one of the thick, studded doors that fronted the fortress and ushered the pair inside before closing it behind them. Great brackets were sunk deep into the walls on either side of the entryway, ready to bear the weight of the massive crossbeam that could be dropped to bar the doors in the event of a siege. It was like stepping into another era as they followed the Sister.

She guided them through a corridor that bent to the right of the main entry, its walls glowing with a dull orange colour that pulsed like a living thing as they left daylight behind and plodded forward into the darkened interior of the Citadel. Clear ringing and clanging echoed along its length from the far end, and when they cleared the long, gentle curve of the hallway, it was clear why.

A grand, circular chamber sprawled away into the shadows under a high ceiling that was lost in darkness. The fiery, gaping maws of forges yawned open at regular intervals around the room, like markers on a great clock, their hump-backed bodies sloping down to disappear into the floor. Anvils rang as hammers wielded by long, slim hands pounded away in smooth strokes that spoke of long experience. Quench tanks of water, oil, and brine hissed as varying lengths of metal were plunged in for cooling.

Cleophas took her charges around the left side of the room, staying well-clear of the showers of sparks that shivered off the work of her Sisters. Bellows pumped rhythmically in some of the forges, fanning the fires of the earth and stoking them higher as the skilled women worked with unnatural speed, their tongs flicking in and out of the heat in a blur. Burning runes glowed around the openings, none of them familiar to Sera, and she felt a headache begin to build between her eyes as she tried to look closer at their shape. They were no doubt taken from the parts of the Gray Book that were closed to Nephilim who did not bear the curling, mask-like markings of the Iron Sisters.

More than a few of the strange Nephilim looked up to mark the passing of rare visitors, their burnt-orange eyes glowing in the light of their forges. Disapproval was stamped across many of their faces as outsiders intruded upon their secret world. Those who were not of their order were only ever given the use of one of the outer antechambers, near the main entry, and were never permitted to penetrate so deeply into the fortress. Cleophas was taking a great risk in bringing them to the triarchs.

Further around the edge of the ring of forges, Sera spied several bump-outs where smaller, seemingly more private work areas had been set up. Although they were not currently in use, the shutters over their openings were still thrown wide, and a more muted red glow quietly purred within, patiently awaiting a mistress. If she thought she had been sweating before, she was absolutely drenched now. She had no idea how the Sisters could stand it in their long, white dresses bound with electrum, particularly under the heavy aprons some wore for protection.

If she hadn't already been staring like an awestruck tourist, Sera probably would not have spotted the twisted doors that had been roughly shoved together across the opening of a cold, dark forge in one of the alcoves. Whatever material had been used to craft the shutters looked as though it had melted, its clean lines destroyed by some sort of cataclysm. Anvils slumped around the work area, their horns cracked off jaggedly in places, their faces pitted with scars as if they had been sprayed with acid. Quench tanks that had long-since been emptied still looked slick inside with a black, tarry substance that seemed to ooze with a life of its own. Sera didn't even notice when her feet stopped so that she could gawk at the clear signs of devastation.

"What happened here?"

The nearest Iron Sisters working inside the great ring of forges gave each other dark looks and moved away, shaking their heads and exchanging words that were lost in the din. Cleophas closed her long fingers around Sera's arm and drew her along.

"A grievous error in judgement by one of our own over forty years ago. Although she was dismissed from our order in absentia for her crimes after she fled, we have preserved the ruin she brought down upon this forge as a reminder of why our kind must stand as both sword and shield for this world. We cannot afford to allow the weakness of men to poison what we have created here."

Clary's green eyes were sad when she looked away from the devastated alcove. Memories spilled across the years from a time in her life that she rarely allowed herself to dwell upon. Her brother's face flickered to life in her mind, arrogance etched across his features as the two of them faced a woman with long, thick auburn hair that fell to her waist. Dark runes had been carved high on the Sister's cheekbones to trace down from the corner of her eyes to her lips. Clary heard the echo of her own voice in her mind from a tiny flat in Paris.

" _I thought the Iron Sisters never left their fortress-"_

" _They don't,"_ Sebastian had answered with a smirk. _"Unless they are disgraced by having their part in the Uprising discovered. Who do you think armed the Circle?"_

Clary bowed her head almost imperceptibly as her memory flashed forward to Jace's shredded shirt, the ugly slash across Lilith's Mark on his chest, the blood on his hands. Not all of it had been his own.

Her voice was little more than a whisper that failed to rise above the clamour from the Makers who worked around the great ring of forges. A name slipped from her lips, steeped in sorrow for the Sister's fate. "Magdalena."

Cleophas did not seem to hear, or if she did, she chose to ignore the traitor's name.

They left the heat and noise of the central chamber behind when they crossed into a corridor that branched off the north side of the room, and Sera threw formality to the wind as she lifted the hem of her black tank top and wiped the sweat from her face. _Gross._

Their host guided the way through several more twists and turns before bringing them to a halt in front of a nondescript door. She twisted the knob with her long, spider-like fingers and eased it open, the hinges grating in protest. Whatever Sera and Clary had been expecting to see, it certainly was not what appeared to be something very much like the inside of a safety deposit box repository.

Row upon row of uniform-looking wooden drawers were neatly labelled with names or numbers, their faces antiquated; relics from the past. Cleophas ventured inside the small room and scanned the wall on the left side for a moment before reaching up to grasp a handle and pull. The drawer slid out smoothly, and Sera caught a glimpse of the label just before the Iron Sister removed it from its setting and crumpled the slip in her hand.

 _P. Chasewell._

"I believe this belongs to you," Cleophas said quietly as she lifted the lid on the box and offered its contents to Sera.

A silver signet ring lay within, and Sera's eyebrows drew together in confusion. She reached out hesitantly to pick it up, and was surprised to see the emblem across its face. Two foxes at play, each one curving back to look at the other. It had been years since she had seen anything with this mark on it, not since she had sold the last of the Chasewell family heirlooms to buy her ticket to Las Vegas after her mother's death. The life she had built for herself since then had all started from that tiny bit of seed money.

She looked up to meet the Sister's odd, orange-hued eyes. "I don't understand."

A touch of pity appeared behind the curling mask across Cleophas' face. "It belonged to your grandmother. When we take our vows, we renounce all ties to our families, and many of our personal effects end up here if they are not bequeathed to heirs." Her voice softened. "Sister Philomena's death was a great sorrow to us all, and the mystery of it haunted us for twenty years. Now we know the truth."

 _No._

 _No._

 _No._

Sera didn't register the pain as her knees hit the hard stone floor of the corridor. Clary gasped at her side, and she caught the younger Shadowhunter's shoulder as Sera sagged sideways, still trying to breathe. The fingers of Sera's right hand had gone white as she clenched the ring in horror.

 _Sister Philomena._ Her heart pounded. _My grandmother._ Her _mnemosyne_ rune seemed to burn. _I never knew._ She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memories she could never be free of. Fire blazed up from a Mundane home again in her mind as she watched her mother drive away with a two-year-old Sera in the backseat. She could still see the words she had written in her dream diary that had tried to capture what she had _felt_ about the connection between her mother and the Iron Sister. ' _I could feel something more between them, a relationship that my dream-sense could only hint at, but not pin down.'_ And now here was the answer.

 _Brother Isaiah and Sister Philomena._

The names hissed in her mind like accusations. Her mother had murdered them to conceal Sera's existence after they had performed the protective rites over her as a child.

It was not uncommon to find a Silent Brother outside of the City of Bones, but she had never understood how her mother had managed to find an Iron Sister who would come. Now she knew.

 _Meridian killed her own mother._

Sera felt sick.

Cleophas waited patiently, an unmoving statue, while Sera struggled to regain her composure. Clary was murmuring something comforting in a low voice, but Sera couldn't hear it over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. She shook her head slowly as if she could deny the truth, but for all her gifts, she couldn't change the past.

"I..." She swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced herself to get a grip. "I can't take this," she said thickly to Cleophas. She held out her hand and ordered her fingers to open, but the Sister curled her own hands back around Sera's.

"It is yours, Seraphina. A family ring should never be lost." She dropped a sideways glance at Clary. "Something the Herondales would do well to remember."

Sera's hand trembled within the Sister's grasp. "They're not my family," she protested weakly. "I don't know anything about them. I'm just me. Just Sera."

"You cannot wish away your blood," Cleophas answered, her voice taking on a sharper edge as she released Sera's hand. "I can remember the day your grandmother first came to the Citadel, barely a woman and already seven months pregnant with nowhere else to go. She gave birth here in these very halls, but the child could not remain. The babe was sent to be raised in one of the orphanages of Alicante."

Understanding bloomed in Sera's mind. After the Dark War, Meridian had answered the Clave's call for help to care for the children left orphaned by Sebastian Morgenstern's treachery. _Of course she did._ It had been while working in the orphanage that she had met and fallen in love with Sera's father in his Mortal form. _But she never forgave her mother for abandoning her._

Cleophas watched her carefully as her words sunk in. "Do not so lightly dismiss the lessons of the past, child. Your mother did not learn forgiveness; do not repeat her mistakes. Keep the ring and come to terms with what it represents. Your family lives on through you."

The Iron Sister closed the door on the storage room with a sense of finality and beckoned for them to follow. "Come. The triarchs will have gathered by now. It is unwise to keep them waiting overlong."

Two levels higher up in the keep, and past more hallways of silver-white walls hemming in black basalt floors than Sera cared to count, they reached what Cleophas quietly informed them was called the Hall of Voices. Its doors were thrown open in anticipation of the guests, and Sera felt her breath hitch when they entered.

Shallow, dark stone galleries were set in a ring around the room, offering tiered seating for nearly two hundred if the benches were filled to capacity. Witchlight burned severely in silver sconces affixed to the walls at regular intervals, their shining glow so reminiscent of the demon towers of Alicante that Sera wondered if they were made in the same way, and if they could change colour if needed. Behind a double-level of carved stone, three seemingly ageless women waited in high-backed chairs of the same basalt that was so prevalent throughout the Citadel. A different rune stood out over each of the triarchs, and Sera recognized their shapes easily; Truth, Knowledge, and Power.

"Clarissa Fairchild and Seraphina Chasewell," the woman in the centre greeted them stiffly. Silver and white streaks threaded through the long braid that had been twisted up into a bun at the back of her head under an intricate brace of electrum wire. The tattooed mask around her eyes seemed rife with thorns, and it gave her a much more dangerous look than the curling lines of Sister Cleophas' markings. She bore the same orange cast to her eyes that all Makers adapted over the years of staring into the fires of the earth to work the forges of Heaven. "You stand before the triarchs of the Adamant Citadel under the protection of one of our own. I am Sister Delilah, and I will hear your words."

The triarch to her right brought her fingertips together lightly before her as she leaned forward on her elbows to get a better look at the visitors. Her heart-shaped mouth lifted with a touch of excitement, and the witchlight gleamed off shining black hair that hung in a single braid past her waist. Her smooth, mocha-coloured skin made it impossible to tell if she was twenty or forty, or two-hundred and forty. "I am Sister Adina, and I will hear your words."

The third woman nodded her greeting to the guests who waited below with a single bob of her flaxen-haired head. High cheekbones were marred by the scars of her order where they melded into the delicate pattern that was not unlike a butterfly's wings across her eyes. "I am Sister Miriam, and I will hear your words."

Sera felt the sweat on her palms and surreptitiously wiped her hands on the back of her shirt, no doubt adding to the stains from her face earlier. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ She snarled at herself, at her hormones, and at her general discomfort when presented with figures of authority. _I faced down the Unseelie King in his Court and took him down!_

 _Murderess,_ her mind whispered with a hint of pleasure.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice," Clary began confidently, "and we apologize for any trouble we may have caused by coming to you here like this, but we would not have come if it were not of the utmost importance."

One of Delilah's eyebrows lifted coolly. "You use the same words the Consul used when he came to us for weapons in his Exile. How can it be that each visit is of the 'utmost importance' if they all seem to be?"

A faint tinge of red appeared in Clary's cheeks, but she kept her temper in check and continued to make an attempt at civility. Alec was counting on them. He had given her plenty of pretty words for the triarchs, and she struggled to keep them straight. "The world outside your walls changes quickly during these unsettled times. A new threat has emerged out of the ashes of the old and the Nephilim at last have a chance to close the door on an ancient enemy that has been allowed to walk this world for too long, unbeknownst to us. With the world's wards, perhaps, healed permanently, it still remains for us to eliminate the evil within our borders if we wish to see the peace we've fought so hard to win come to pass. Give us what we need to see this done. In Raziel's name, grant us the use of your angel blood."

Adina drummed her fingers along her jaw thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. Sera did not fail to note that the triarch was seated beneath the Knowledge rune when her strange eyes locked on to the younger Shadowhunter. "Angel blood indeed," she murmured. "I suppose it would only be fair to tell you that you were granted this audience not because of our Sister's request, but because of the blood that brought our drawbridge down." Her glance flicked down to Sera's hand, and then back to her golden gaze. "Very interesting."

Miriam shot her Sister a scathing look of reproval. "They were granted this audience because they made a request that was too great for any one Sister to grant alone." She looked back at their visitors. "Tell us why you have come to ask for our most precious resource."

With a deep breath, Clary began laying out the origin story of the Eternal Forest that had been pieced together by Cassius and how it related to what seemed to be a growing evil within the Unseelie Court under its new King. She told them of the connection between the Wild Hunt, the Forest, and the world's magic that kept the wards strong, explaining how the drain on the world caused by the destruction of Alicante had left doors open that they had never known had existed. It was a complex tale to spin, but she did it justice, and the triarchs did not interrupt her once.

Sera waited uncomfortably by her friend's side, particularly when her own involvement came into the spotlight with what had happened on Wrangel Island. Stories were already spreading based on what Alec's projection message had relayed in the aftermath of the world-wide event, but it was hard to hear it like this, first-hand from someone who had witnessed it.

All three of the triarchs exchanged looks of surprise when Clary brought her retelling to a close and implored them one more time to heed to Consul's request for aid. Delilah was the first to recover.

"These things you have told us..." she exhaled quietly, "I have never heard the like in all my years. You spoke truly when you said that the world outside our walls is changing swiftly. These are unsettled times for our kind."

Adina pursed her lips in response. "Unsettled, and _dangerous._ The Wild Hunt freed from their chains after all these centuries? The Faerie Courts at war with one another? Blights consuming the land behind Fey borders? It has been our charge for a thousand years to carefully safeguard and shape the _adamas_ mined from below Idris in the war against demon-kind – how much more closely must we ration our rarest and most valuable gift?" Disapproval rolled off her as she pinned Cleophas with a fiery gaze. "The only _aegis_ we had was given to the Consul against the better judgement of this council."

A flash of anger went through Sera, and she finally broke her silence. "Hey." She jabbed a finger up at Adina. "That _aegis_ was _useful_. A damn sight more useful than it would have been sitting here in a box. All of us would be dead right now if Jace hadn't have put that thing through whatever passed for Asmodeus' heart. What good is a weapon if you don't _use_ it?"

The triarch's lips drew back, but she was headed off by Miriam's clear, calm voice. "Even now, a new _aegis_ is already being crafted, and is nearly ready for its final seething. If we release the blood to you, we will be unable to complete its forging. It could be decades before we could try again and once more hold a weapon to ensure that our world is kept proof against its greatest threats." She gave them an almost apologetic smile. "You must understand, this... concoction... that you are suggesting we trust – it was conceived by a Faerie, was it not?" A note of scepticism coloured her tone. "It has never been tried, never been tested. An _aegis_ , on the other hand, has been one of our most powerful weapons for centuries. We know it and we understand it."

Indignation seized a hold of Sera. _Why can't they understand? Why can't they see what's happening?_ She fumed silently.

 _They never do,_ a whisper floated across her mind. _You have to_ make _them see._

She shook off her rising anger and forced her voice to remain steady. "What if I told you that you might never _need_ another _aegis_? That this could be the end of Greater Demons on earth forever?" She took a shuddering breath and swallowed once. "I want you to know _exactly_ what happened to me on Wrangel Island."

All the uncertainty she had been feeling dropped away as she told them about Ithuriel's appearance, about what he had shown her high above the world in the shimmering network that had cocooned the Mortal realm. It wasn't something she had shared with the others, not yet, because she wasn't entirely sure that she understood it herself, but she trusted her gut; they had to _see_ as she had seen.

If the triarchs had been surprised by Clary's tale, they were positively stunned by Sera's revelation that her father was the angel Ithuriel, and that she had been given the barest of glimpses through Heaven's eye. It was Clary's turn to remain silent. She knew that Sera had the triarch's attention now.

"My father," Sera continued shakily, "showed me a sliver of how all of this," she waved her hand around once, "works. He showed me that Heaven can only deal in opportunities, that nothing is predetermined because to do so would be to take away _our_ rarest and most valuable gift – free will." She felt her jaw tighten, and she took a step forward, closing her fist to point a finger down at the black stones set down at the base of the dais. "So you can _choose_ to turn us away empty-handed. You can _choose_ to deliberate this decision until the demon towers come crashing down. You can _choose_ to keep the Iron Sisters from contributing to a different kind of weapon, one that is not made of electrum or _adamas."_ She paused to take another deep breath. "Or you can _choose_ to trust in something bigger than yourself,to trust that all of this is part of a larger opportunity to change the world."

The triarchs were held spellbound by her words, and Sera refused to let them go. Not now. Not when she was so close. "Every one of us carries a single piece to contribute, and we're asking you to join your piece to ours so that we can take that and join it to another, and then another still, until we can make that picture of a world without demons become a reality. None of us can do this alone. We have to make the leap together. Help us."

Sera could swear that she saw the tiniest nod of Delilah's head before the woman who sat below the rune for Power spoke. "As you say: None of us can do this alone." She laid her hands flat against the bench on either side of her seat and rose to her feet. "We will call together the members of our order to discuss your request. You are welcome to spend the night within our halls, and we will give you our decision on the morrow."

 _No!_ Frustration swelled across Sera's face, but Clary's hand caught her arm and squeezed firmly for emphasis. "Thank you, Sisters. We will patiently await your wisdom." She backed away without letting go of Sera, and after a few steps, she turned them both around and steered them out of the Hall of Voices with Cleophas at their heels.

Their guide left them at the door of a small, dormitory-like room that was not in use by the Sisters. She said little, only ensuring that they would have what they needed before bidding them good night. The rebuke in Sister Adina's voice when she had called down Cleophas for releasing the _aegis_ to Alec without their permission was still fresh in her mind. If the triarchs ruled in favour of parting with their supply of angel blood, it would mean that the Citadel would be unable to replace what she had so freely given, and whatever the consequences of that action would be on her head.

A double row of four, narrow beds lined opposite walls of the austere room, their clean, cream-coloured sheets neatly tucked in at the corners and drawn right up to the iron bars of the head- and foot-boards. Small, white-washed tables with simple witchlight lamps stood between each of the beds. Clary moved to the third bed on the right and brought the fixture to life before flopping down on the coverlet. The dormitory was not unlike the Institute infirmaries with which she had become so familiar in her teenage years, and it was oddly comforting to be back in familiar surroundings after the conflictingly stark opulence of the rest of the Citadel.

Sera took the second bed on the left and perched on the edge awkwardly, one leg tucked under herself. With Cleophas gone and the door shut, it was almost uncomfortably quiet. They were far enough away from the great ring of forges to not hear the noise, if there were even still Sisters at work after receiving the summons from the triarchs. She let her hair down out of its ponytail and combed it out with her fingers distractedly. "So... do we just sit here now?" Waiting had never been a strong point for her.

Clary pushed herself up to elbows and gave Sera a wry smile. "I think we get to sleep at some point." She softened her voice. "You look like you could use a good night's rest."

Huffing a stray bit of hair out her face, Sera felt a tiny spark of fear at the thought of sleeping. Since encountering Baelerithon in the dream world, she didn't feel safe anymore. His threat was still painfully clear, and she had no desire to risk running into him again. The world she had come to know and rely on for so long was closed to her until he could be brought down. That meant staying inside of her own dreams in the meantime, and with little more than a wasted Morgenstern Manor, squalling infants and Rayce's bloody kisses to keep her company, she was just as happy to try to see how long she could stay up.

She shivered despite the natural warmth of the room and tried to arrange her features into a false pout. "I thought I'm supposed to get some kind of _glow_ out of this. Is it not working?"

The bed creaked quietly under Clary as she sat up fully and drew her knees into her chest. "You don't have to pretend with me, Sera," she said gently. "I know you're just holding it all in right now, but trust me, that's the best way to blow up or melt down. I'm really proud of you for telling them what happened with..." she faltered for a moment, and then recovered, "with your father. I... remember how confusing it used to be when I would see images or memories from Ithuriel. I can't even imagine what it was like for you up there."

Sera silently chewed the inside of her bottom lip and found herself unexpectedly wishing for Rayce to be there. He was stuck back at the manor, graciously playing host to their motley assortment of guests while she was on this no-boys-allowed mission. She knew it was good for him to stay busy, to not dwell on what had happened to him with the Hunt, but she still just wanted him _here_.

 _Selfish._

Clary felt the hitch in the conversation and changed the topic smoothly with a nod to the Morgenstern ring on Sera's left hand. "If you're going to keep that one, what will you do with the Chasewell ring now?"

The silver band of Rayce's gift to her felt smooth as Sera idly pushed it around her ring finger with her thumb, the pattern of stars on its sides slightly worn down from the decades it had spent on various members of the Morgenstern family. "I don't know," Sera confessed, her eyes fixed on a spot just under the opposite bed. "I've been 'just Sera' for so long that I don't even think I want to try to be Sera Chasewell. I made my choice." She shrugged. "It was always going to be Rayce or nothing for me. I don't want anything to do with my family. We have our own now."

"I know what it's like," Clary said softly, "wishing that you could just _not_ have this... this _guilt_ about who you are, even though it's not your fault." She snorted indelicately. "I mean, for the Angel's sake, look who _my_ father was. _And_ my brother." She unconsciously stroked the thin chain around her neck almost as if she could still remember when she had worn the same Morgenstern ring there that now belonged to Sera. "It's strange, really... Earlier, when we saw that ruined forge... I met the woman who did that. Years ago. Remembering her made me think about my brother, and it's like he was right there again, even after all this time." A shudder ran through her, raising goosebumps along her arms, and she rubbed at them for a moment. "The past never really goes away, Sera, even when you want it to. You just have to decide how you're going to live with it. Don't let it define you. Only you can do that."

 _But it's not just my mother,_ Sera wanted to say. _I'm worse than she ever was._

Instead, she forced herself to flash a more convincing smile. "That's some pretty heavy food for thought right before bed... but... thanks. I'm really glad you came with me today. I don't know if I could have done this alone."

"Sure you could have," Clary laughed lightly, kicking off her boots. "They would just have one less triarch by now and you would be running for the hills." She clicked off the lamp and missed seeing the pained look that cross Sera's face in response to the unintentionally cruel joke. "Get some sleep! G'night!"

"Good night," Sera answered faintly, pulling off her own boots in the dark and unbuckling her belt and letting it fall to the floor next to her bed.

The pillow may as well have not existed, even after Sera folded it once or twice, and she sighed internally for what was probably going to be an uncomfortable night. _Maybe it'll help keep me awake_ , she grumped.

Almost before she could finish forming the thought, sleep washed over her like an incoming tide, and then she was caught in the undertow as exhaustion dragged her down.

 _Sparkling fairy lights glittered along the slim boughs of the peach trees of the orchard around her, their twinkling coppery glow illuminating the small dance floor Magnus had created for the guests. Sera sighed happily when she looked down and saw the familiar sweetheart neckline, the intricate beading across the bodice of her pale gold wedding gown._

I guess there are _some_ advantages to being stuck in my own dreams, _Sera mused to herself as she spied the deserted dinner table and all of its splendour. It was impossible not to feel happy here._

" _Sera."_

 _She snapped her head back around to find the voice, her heart leaping into her throat in a moment of dread as she imagined Baelerithon finding her even here._

 _Rayce waited for her on the dance floor, his right hand outstretched and awaiting her own. He wore the same gold-runed, black gear that Shadowhunter men wore on their wedding day, the colour contrasting sharply with the shock of white hair above his collar. The shy curve of his lips filled her with an ache as she remembered their stolen dance in the master bedroom of the manor before Jace had interrupted them. 'We could have danced until dawn,' Rayce had lamented. She felt a wave of protectiveness flare up._ Well, there's nothing stopping us now.

 _She glided forward to lay her hand in Rayce's and he drew her in smoothly, his free hand settling gently behind her hip instead of below her shoulder blade. His steps were light as he started to lead them through a lazy waltz, and Sera exhaled contentedly as the tension she had been carrying melted away with the feeling of her dress swishing and swaying around her legs._

 _Rayce's eyes shone with pleasure as he coiled her in toward his chest for a moment before turning her out once more, every movement filled with confidence. She couldn't tell if it was simply a trick of seeing him through the lens of her own dreams or not, but he was even more beautiful than she remembered. The line of his jaw was more fierce than she recalled, and there was a hint of arrogant swagger in the way that he moved that she had never noticed before. The tiny lights that criss-crossed overhead sparkled off the silver ring on her finger where it glittered brightly against the shoulder of his black jacket._

 _A flicker of unease went through her._

 _Almost as if he could sense it, Rayce slowed their dance further and reached up to brush an escaped curl away from her face. His voice was barely a whisper. "What's wrong, my beautiful one? I thought this was what you wanted."_

" _It was," she protested. "Is." Doubt nagged at her._

 _He lifted the back of her hand and kissed it softly, letting his lips trail up her wrist to her forearm, and she felt two very strong, very opposite reactions. Part of her wanted to melt forward into his arms, and the other part wanted to yank her hand away and run._

What the hell is wrong with me?

" _You really need to relax," he murmured quietly. "You worry too much about what everyone else thinks about you. Just be what you are." His green eyes turned up to meet hers for a moment. "Own it, or it will end up owning you."_

" _What are you talking about?" His kisses were dizzying, and it was harder to fight against the half of herself that wanted to give in as his other hand traced a path up her spine, his arms encircling her. She couldn't seem to help herself as she ran her left hand up his chest and stroked down the side of his face with her right. It wasn't_ fair _that they hadn't had enough time together yet._

" _You're letting them get to you, make you feel guilty for who you were born to be," he purred in her ear as he completed the line up her arm. "Look at what you_ are _, Sera." He nuzzled his face down into the hollow of her throat and she felt herself gasp in response. She could almost feel his smile against the soft skin of her neck. "A glorious angel of vengeance with the Morgenstern name at last. All of our strengths; none of our weaknesses."_

 _Warning bells blared through Sera's mind as she unravelled her husband's words. Her memory clicked back to the dream she had had of him in the Unseelie Court, when he had been bound to the quickbeam and lashed for his disobedience. She had seen a second figure clad all in scarlet gear, his face so similar to her prince's that it could only have been one man who had grinned so sardonically at her before shrugging out of his jacket to show the weals across his own back._

 _Sera's hand flashed up and cracked hard across Rayce's cheek, sending him staggering back with a yell of shock and pain. He went down to one knee, rocked by the force of her blow, and he pressed his hand over where the stinging slap had landed._

" _How_ dare _you wear his face," Sera hissed at him. "You_ bastard _!" Fury ripped through her and boiled over into her dreamscape. The lights in the peach trees burst and sent wavering flames through the blossoms overhead, and her dress vanished in the same instant to be replaced by her favourite black leather pants, jacket, and most importantly, her ass-kicking boots. Because there was now an ass that was definitely in need of kicking._

 _Low laughter met her rage, and Sebastian shed his son's visage as he rose to his feet, though he kept the wedding clothes. The gold-threaded runes along his cuffs felt like an insult to Sera. "You know, between the two of us, you're_ _actually_ much _closer to being a bastard than I am. At least I was born in wedlock."_

 _Heosphoros appeared in Sera's hand and she whipped the blade up until it was level with his neck. "You're a_ dead _bastard as far as I'm concerned," she snarled in response. How long had he been masquerading as Rayce? Was he behind all of the dark dreams she had been having about her husband? Was it his voice that had taunted her in the nursery of Morgenstern Manor? She didn't know whether to pray for it to be true or false. She had been completely duped._

 _An expression of mock hurt crossed his face, and he lowered his hand to rest over his heart as he angled away from the dance floor toward the gift table, which seemed much closer than it had been at the real wedding. "Speaking ill of the dead_ and _your father-in-law all in one breath, Sera? You're_ doubly _going to Hell now, you know."_

 _She shook her head and gestured with the tip of her sword. "Just stop." She tried to think. "I saw you. In the Unseelie Court. Why are you here? You're supposed to be dead."_

 _A flicker of annoyance crossed his features. "Now don't start with that. It gets very boring, very quickly." He poked at the boxes, flipping over tags to read them curiously. Mercifully, Sera's dream did_ not _include their 'gift' from Baelerithon. "I've finally been able to get out a bit – you can't blame me for wanting to spend time with my family."_

 _Something about what he had said struck a chord with her, and she called to mind the morning after she and Rayce had awoken in each others arms in Idris. It had been the first time she had seen him with the Morgenstern ring. He had claimed that his father had given it to him, but Sera had been quick to chalk it all up as a hallucination brought on by the waters of Lake Lyn. And yet... he had been adamant that_ something _had given him that ring. She looked down at her left hand._

 _This ring._

 _Comprehension dawned on her._

" _It's this, isn't it?" She lifted her hand, her fingers clenched into a fist with the Morgenstern ring glittering in the light of the tiny fires all around the orchard. "Were you annoying the crap out of Rayce the whole time he had it, too? Did he know about you when he gave me the ring?"_

" _Nah," Sebastian said reassuringly as he hooked a bottle of champagne off the table and popped the cork. "He may have gotten my stunning good looks, but he got his mother's brains." He took a deep swig and glanced down at the label appreciatively. "Rayce convinced himself that it was all in his head, that I was just the darker side of himself trying to hide in his father's image so that he could keep his hat white."_

 _Sebastian perched on the edge of the gift table. "He became_ very _boring once he decided once and for all to take the high road and go all noble, so I saw no reason to correct him." His black eyes flashed. "You can imagine how thrilled I was when_ you _kept the ring."_

" _Then I'll be sure to drop it into one of the convenient forges of the Citadel and send your ass screaming back to Hell."_

 _He laughed out loud and slapped his thigh in amusement. "See?_ That's _what I'm talking about! You can be absolutely savage!" He gestured toward her still-flat abdomen with the bottle in a silent toast. "_ That's _the kind of strength I'm counting on for the next generation of Morgensterns."_

" _You stay the hell away from my kids," Sera threatened._ My kids. _It was the first time she had ever thought of them like that._

" _Sera, Sera..." Sebastian soothed, "I would never_ dream _of harming them. No one is more interested in protecting them than I am, I assure you."_

 _All the connections she had been missing, all the feelings she hadn't been having for her unborn children were snapping into place at last. Her fears shattered, her insecurities faded, and her uncertainty broke when squared face to face against the legendary villain._

"I _am," she swore, twisting the tainted Morgenstern ring off her finger and holding it up for him to see. "Give me one good goddamn reason not to melt this sucker down as soon as I wake up."_

 _A trace of genuine fear appeared behind the fathomless depths of Sebastian's eyes. He lost some of his bravado and lowered the bottle to the table. He turned serious. "Because I can help. Have been helping, actually."_

 _She lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. "Oh, really?" Heosphoros continued to hover in the space between them. She doubted it would have any lasting effect on him if she put the blade through his chest in this world, but it would certainly_ feel _good._

" _Sure I have," he answered earnestly. "I was the one who kept Rayce strong enough to survive the Hunt, whether you want to give me credit for that or not. They would have torn him apart without me hissing in his ear." Sera couldn't have known about what had happened to Kratus, how Rayce had pressed the rebellious Hunter into one of the trees of the Eternal Forest as an example to the others, but she could hear the truth in Sebastian's voice. He decided to give her a better example, one that hit a bit closer to home._

" _When you were coming up with nothing on the Unseelie or the Hunters in your dreams, it was_ me _who led you to Baelerithon so that you could see what he was doing from the relative safety of this world. You chose to follow my little trail of wind, although I must admit that I didn't think he would have quite that much power here." He shrugged. "Sorry about that."_

 _Her cry of 'bullshit' died on her lips. She_ had _been led that night, and hadn't been able to understand why. Once again, she detected no falsehood in his tone. Heosphoros dipped in her grasp, its tip lowering as she saw the fallen Nephilim before her in a new light._

" _Why are you here?" She asked again, her voice much softer than it had been. The smouldering patches along the branches of the peach trees cooled, their light dimming until there was little more than starlight illuminating the dance floor._

 _Sebastian rolled his eyes impatiently. "I told you-"_

" _No," she cut him off. "Don't give me that bullshit about spending time with family, or finally having a chance to get away from that lake where you somehow managed to give Rayce your ring. Why are you still here at all? Lingering?" She turned the blade in her hand slightly as a reminder. "The stories say that your sister burned the evil out of you when she killed you with this thing in Edom. Why haven't you, you know... gone on?"_

" _Would you?" He threw back at her quietly, his voice taking on a hint of vulnerability. "Do you think I don't know exactly where I'm going?" His eyes seemed to plead with her to understand. "Can you honestly blame me for staying when I know where all of this ends for me?"_

 _His mood shifted again and he pushed himself away from the table as if he could leave his moment of weakness behind. He traced one graceful finger along the flat of Heosphoros and sneered a bit. "Precious_ Jonathan _punched his ticket to Heaven when this went through my chest. Poor, sweet, Jonathan." He flicked his wrist sharply and the sword went spinning out of Sera's slackened grasp. "But me? Nah..." His chest rose and fell with quickened breaths. "Not me," he whispered._

 _Against every natural instinct that she had, Sera actually felt a kernel of pity for him, and Sebastian must have seen the look on her face because his smirk snapped back into place, his perpetual armour._

" _Feeling sorry for the bad guy, sweetheart?"_

 _Sera glared at him and shook her head defiantly._

" _Good," he said. "Don't. You're the one who's always going on about free will. Valentine may have made me what I was, but I chose to do what I did." He tugged on the lapels of Rayce's wedding jacket and grinned smugly. "And I think I had a damn good time doing it, if I do say so myself. After what you two did on Wrangel Island, I think there's actually a case to be made that will show that if it hadn't been for me, the world's ward would never have been healed." His eyes shone with ironic laughter. "I'm the_ real _hero of that story."_

 _Sera snorted. "Oh, get over yourself." She brought Heosphoros back to her side with a thought and let it hang in its sheathe at her waist once more. "If you're_ actually _going to help, I'll think about not smashing your ring flat."_

 _He bowed his head to her. "Much appreciated."_

" _But," she warned, lifting a finger threateningly, "if you show up as my husband again..." The dream wavered around her to show an image of the Morgenstern ring melting down into silver puddle. "And keep your hissing to yourself. All that taunting about me being a murderess, about being selfish, and about being a liar stops right here. I'll own it, just like you want me to, but I don't need your constant reminders."_

 _Sebastian gave her a very sober nod. "Deal."_

 _She started to pull away from the orchard, severing her ties to her dream so that she could try to get some real sleep without Sebastian creeping on her. The trees began to fade, and the dance floor crumbled back into the grass._

 _Sebastian blew her a kiss in parting._

" _Send my love to my sister when you wake up?"_

" _You are unbelievable," Sera muttered._

 _**Author's note: I did a bit of extra work around the great forges to set up part of one of my forthcoming short stories that will chronicle the days and weeks before the Uprising with Valentine. The piece will close the inconsistencies presented by Cassie's two opposing stories on how the Circle was armed, and I'm very much looking forward to working from within Valentine's mind. I think you'll enjoy it, too!_

 _Thanks again to Tara for naming each of the triarchs – you continue to save the Shadow World from me._


	14. Chapter 14

The Seelie crown glittered in Arynessa's hands, and she looked down at it with an inscrutable expression, her heart conflicted. What she intended to do today would either be the beginning of her reign or the beginning of her downfall, and she could not yet tell which would come to pass. Every facet of every jewel set into the crown was perfectly cut and clear, a living reflection of what stirred in her heart for the people she had sworn to protect and rule. Could they not see that she cared only for what was in their best interest?

The ancient Fey who had crafted the pair of crowns for their people had ensured that those who strove to wear them would be unable to hide what lay beneath their twisting words and veiled intentions. In Rayce's hands, the gleaming surface had dulled and shifted its appearance until it had resembled little more than scrap metal. The Fey had used and abused him for too long to earn his love and loyalty. But her... Couldn't they see that she _wanted_ to save them from the fate her mother had sealed when she had helped Sebastian Morgenstern betray the Nephilim?

Arynessa sighed and set her birthright atop the sweeping crown-braided hairstyle she had decided on for the day. Wisps of lavender-colour hair had already escaped, or had failed to be captured in her initial attempt. One of Sera's dresses wrapped around her body like a second skin, its black skirt falling much shorter than she was accustomed to seeing on herself, and she resisted the urge to tug at the bottom. She felt a pang of guilt for what had surely befallen Kaelie in her place during that final night in the Seelie Court. There were no handmaidens in Morgenstern Manor to see to her needs. There was only...

"You should have just let me help you," Aspen criticized from her perch on the window sill, taking a break from looking out over the grounds. "I'm sure you can rock the wind-blown look, but still..."

"I require neither your assistance nor your opinions, Nephilim child," the Seelie Queen answered, not bothering to hide the annoyance in her voice as she slipped her feet into a pair of heels on loan from Sera with a severe warning that nothing had better happen to them. "And nor do I require you to continue to intrude upon my private chambers."

"Yeah, well, uncle Alec 'requires' you to still be alive when all of this is over, so get used to it." Aspen flicked a ladybug off her leg and watched it fly back out through the open window into the late-August heat.

"Ever have the Queensguards remained _outside_ her chambers-"

"And how's that working out for you guys?" Aspen snorted. "Look, it's gonna be one of us inside and one of us outside, so unless you want me to go switch places with Hunter, and I would be _more_ than happy to, you're just going to have to deal with it."

The Queen's eyes flashed at the impertinence of the Herondale girl. It seemed to be a flaw that ran in the family, no doubt strengthened in this one by the addition of her mother's stubbornness. "You-"

The door creaked open and Hunter poked his head in, the colour draining from his face a bit when he saw the two staring daggers at each other. "Uh, hey, um... your majesty?" He tried hard not to openly stare at the _very_ different appearance of the Seelie Queen in Sera's clothes. "You've got a visitor."

The Queen smiled in response and nodded. "Send him in." _Finally._

Cassius stepped lightly through the doorway and Aspen's mouth dropped open. Sera was always asking him to wear a bit more around the house, but this... He was significantly more dressed than she had ever seen him before, and the effect was slightly terrifying.

A leather half-harness covered the right side of his chest, curving down diagonally to leave his left shoulder bare and his remaining wing free. A triple row of straps were buckled snugly under his left arm to secure the armoured side to his body, while another ran from the centre of his chest over his collar bone and down his back to fasten near his wing. His hands were covered by the strange, flexible gloves lined with whatever metal it was that allowed him to safely handle the twin _torahk-na_ coiled at his hips. Supple black leather boots encased his normally bare feet and he wore his customary low-cut pants to match. He, too, had braided his hair for the occasion, but it hung in a single, white length down his back. His grey eyes turned down and he bowed slightly.

"My Queen," he murmured. "We are ready to leave when you command."

"Excellent." The Seelie Queen extended her hand to him, but Aspen leaped between them.

"Woah, woah, woah. What's this? Leaving for where?"

"The Rift," the Queen answered simply. "The evacuation orders must be given immediately and preparations will be made for the Fey to return to our former territories, as agreed upon with your Consul."

"The _Rift_?" Aspen said incredulously, her golden eyebrows climbing halfway up her forehead. "Um, how about _no_? It's _way_ too dangerous."

"I am well aware of the dangers of the Rift." The Queen gestured to the patient Faerie before her. "Cassius will be more than able to protect me while I am there."

"Uh uhn. I don't think so." Aspen crossed her arms and shot a look at where Hunter was hovering nervously near the door. "Not without us."

The Queen shook her head. "Nephilim are forbidden in the Rift with good reason, little girl. You would be killed before you made it two steps from where you entered."

"Yeah, well, _technically_ , the Fey aren't allowed in Idris, but here you guys are anyway. Don't you know that Herondales _love_ breaking rules? Either _we're_ going, or _you're_ not, okay?" She touched the cold-iron manacles looped around her belt that were intended for any Faerie assassins that might come looking for the Queen. "Or do you need another ' _demonstration'_?"

Arynessa eyed the child warily and briefly considered ordering Cassius to leave the pair of Nephilim tied up and stuffed in the closet, but she doubted that he would side with her against them in this even if she pressed his loyalty. He had come to love the Shadowhunters too much through his bond with Ezekiel. _Too much, indeed_... she mused to herself as she once again tallied up his strange behaviour since returning from his mission. She wondered what was going on behind those grey eyes of his that was causing him so much sadness.

"Your Consul would not look kindly upon the two of you going into the Rift," the Queen warned.

Aspen made a dismissive noise and waved her hand. "He said he didn't care _what_ we had to do to protect you, which pretty much sounds like we can do whatever we want. We're going."

The Queen smiled sweetly at her in response. "I'll be sure to tell him that if I should need to return your bodies to your families after this."

After a bit of rummaging through some of the spare rooms upstairs, Hunter managed to turn up what he had thought he remembered seeing during their summer cleaning spree, and he nearly vanished in the cloud of dust that rose up from the first few shakes of the bundle in his arms. He coughed violently and shook it out even more furiously, revealing a very outdated Clave cloak that had to be more than fifty years old by now. He unceremoniously turned it inside-out to hide the emblem on its breast and tossed the other one to his parabatai.

"So, do you think these belonged to like, Valentine's parents or something? Back in the day?" Hunter smoothed the front down fruitlessly and reached over his shoulder to find the hood. Aspen wrinkled up her nose at the musty smell and pulled hers on distastefully.

"I dunno, probably? It's so weird."

"I think it's cool! Rayce's great-grandparents probably wore these."

"Smells like it," Aspen muttered unappreciatively. "Come on."

They clomped down the stairs together, already starting to sweat in the black cloaks even without having them done up fully. But the Queen had steadfastly refused to allow them to come unless they did something to disguise what they were. They didn't have Sera around to apply powerful enough glamour runes to fool the residents of the Rift, and even if she had been available, there was no guarantee on how long those glamours might have lasted.

They heard the shiver of blades clashing outside, the noise coming through the open sliding glass doors that led off the kitchen and out onto the rear of the property. The smell of hotdogs cooking reached Aspen and she felt her stomach grumble when she realized this was _totally_ going to ruin her lunch plans.

The source of all the noise was revealed to be Rayce and Zeke training hard across the lawn, both men shirtless and sweating as they dodged and attacked in equal turns. Aspen felt her mouth go dry. _Cousin,_ she heard Hunter admonish her again silently. She peeled her eyes away from Rayce and then forced herself to look away from Zeke, too. The shattered runes all over his body were painful to look at, and she found herself wishing that Sera had had more success with the no-shirt/no-shoes/no-service rules around the house. It gave her shivers every time she saw the Stripped Shadowhunter.

The source of the smell was revealed to be coming from where Mark was absently turning the meat on the charcoal barbecue Jace had gotten up and running after the wedding. Buns were toasting away on a higher rack, and condiments had been laid out on the rusting, ironwork patio table that had somewhat survived the manor's long dormancy.

Cheers erupted from the narrow strip of shade still available along the stone wall as Rayce scored a hit with the flat of one of his staff blades on Zeke's thigh, and Aspen silently cheered along with the two little girls who were waving their arms in the air like mad. Then she saw Lucas sitting with his two sisters and she forgot all about her shirtless cousin.

She started to go over to talk to the Mundane boy, but the Seelie Queen chose that exact moment to emerge from the manor with Cassius a step behind her. Both Faeries eyed the combatants with very different emotions in their gazes.

As if sensing that their audience had grown, Zeke threw a look over his shoulder to take in the new arrivals and held up his hand to stop Rayce without taking his eyes off Cassius.

"I've had enough," he growled, dropping his pair of short swords in the grass and stalking off toward the apple orchard without another backward glance. The one-winged Faerie had not yet come to Zeke with an apology for leaving him behind last time. Only an idiot would see Cassius armed and armoured and not know that he intended to leave again, probably somewhere dangerous this time. Zeke spat in the grass as he walked away and hoped that his mate understood that it was meant for him.

Cassius watched him go with sad eyes, but did nothing to stop him. He felt a tug on his gloved fingers and found Esmeralda pulling on his hand shyly for him to crouch down. He couldn't conceal the tiny smile of delight as he obliged the child, careful of the deadly _torahk-na_ at his hips. Zeke would have to wait. _Because I still do not know what to say to him._

Rayce looked as though he might have gone after his tutor, but he had learned that it was best to leave Zeke alone when he was in a foul mood. Instead, he turned his attention to his sister, and they began a hushed conversation that Aspen couldn't quite overhear.

Lucas sauntered over, leaving his sisters to fawn over Cassius in fascination. He took in the knives strapped to Aspen's legs, the weapons hanging from her belt, and the tough Shadowhunter gear under the cloak. Even her forearms were covered with a pair of shiny, dark bracers that had become almost mandatory over the last decade or so when potentially dealing with magic users in the line of duty. She kinda hoped that he didn't see how much she was sweating.

"Wow," he stammered. "You look.. badass."

She grinned back. "I _am_ badass."

Lucas jerked his thumb back at where Rayce and Zeke had been sparring. "Does that mean _you_ can do all that kind of stuff, too?"

"Damn right I can," Aspen assured him as she casually swiped her hand back through her hair in a dual-purpose attempt to wipe away some sweat and look cool while doing it.

Hunter scowled and tightened his leather-gloved grip on his quarterstaff, fixing Lucas with a hard stare. "So can I." He glowered as hard as he could and tried to loom threateningly.

Aspen whirled around and smacked his shoulder. "Could you just _not_?" She hissed through her teeth. Hunter took a step back from her when he saw her face. "Why do you have to be like this? Every freakin' time I even-"

"Come along, children," the Seelie Queen chided them, finished with her brother for now. The immaturity of her bodyguards continued to grate on her patience as she laid her hand along Cassius' forearm and waited. He gently disentangled his legs from Micaela and Esmeralda and gave them a nudge toward their father where he was coaxing the hotdogs into their buns.

Hunter and Aspen crowded closer together uncomfortably at the Faerie's side, and Cassius sized up Hunter for a moment before gathering them in even closer to fold his wing around the group. It had been a stretch to get Sera and Zeke into the Unseelie Court, and this trip was sure to test his strength.

In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The bright sunshine behind Morgenstern manor was replaced by near total darkness that was broken by only a pair of Faerie-made lights that rippled to life with the return of their master. Bookshelves appeared along the walls as the glow spread, and there was an earthy, bookish-scent in the air that signalled that they had arrived at their destination. Cassius' shop was revealed as the lights reached their full strength, and Aspen looked around in wonder.

"Wow," she breathed. "You have a ton of cool stuff."

Cassius nodded distractedly, his eyes flicking toward the narrow staircase at the back of the shop that led up to the loft he had often shared with Zeke. "There are many things here that I would not see destroyed if the Rift fails." He bowed his head to the Queen. "It may be wiser to make use of your less-recognizable guards, my Lady." One gloved hand strayed down to touch the _torahk-na._ "Many will know me here and wonder what it means to see me so attired at your side. They may perceive a threat to their Rift Lord."

The Seelie Queen gave him a cool look, but saw the merit in his argument. As much as she may have preferred to have the deadly Faerie standing between herself and any potential assassins, she understood that she may be just as likely to show a tempting weakness in revealing her confidence to be so low. Better, perhaps, to keep the children shrouded in mystery and confuse anyone who may be watching for her.

"And what will you do then, Cassius?"

He lifted his hand in a sweep that took in the shop around him. "I will ferry as much as I dare back to the manor for safekeeping. You will find me here when you wish to return to the world above." The Queen inclined her head in acknowledgement and turned to leave, but Cassius caught her arm lightly. "Take care out there, your Highness. All may not be as you expect. These are unsettled times for our people."

She held his steadying gaze a moment longer until he released her, and then she reached for the doorknob, leaving the Nephilim little choice but to follow her out into the bustling streets of the Rift.

The Queen of the Seelie Court stepped out into the black stone cavern in three-inch heels that she was rapidly starting to regret accepting from Sera, her borrowed dress almost embarrassingly short when compared to what she typically wore. The crown sparkled atop her braided hairstyle, and a few wispy tendrils of her hair fluttered around her heart-shaped face as she strode forward and tried to exude confidence. Her delicate, gossamer wings rose over her shoulders in graceful arches, free to move in the backless dress. She grudgingly conceded to herself that she felt... powerful. Like no one should dare cross her. Perhaps there was room for some variation in her wardrobe in the future...

 _If there is a future,_ she grimaced inwardly. So much depended on what she said and did this day. She let her hand graze where Solarius' child was already growing inside of her. How would he react when she told him of the terms she had negotiated with the Nephilim Consul? The Fey stood to regain everything they had lost... while he stood to lose everything he had gained.

Her sharp hearing caught the muted whispers of her two unlikely bodyguards behind her as they passed the shop that had provided so many tools for Rayce's education over the years. Steles lay in cases in the display window, and witchlight stones lay heaped together like tourist souvenirs in a dump bin.

"Did you just see-" Hunter started to ask.

Aspen hissed back, "Shut _up!"_

Both fell silent once more, an order from the Queen before leaving, not only to hide their unfamiliar accents, but to give her slightly more peace and quiet until they reached the comparative safety of Sol's palace. Sera and Rayce had strategically waited to enter the Rift until the quieter, early morning hours, but she had been unwilling to delay another full day when they had insisted on coming with her. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the perspective, all of the staring eyes that fell on their tiny party were riveted on the new Faerie Queen. She saw werewolves blink in confusion while vampires exchange amused glances. The few warlocks who had returned after their quick flight when the Rift had been in flux after the Alicante sabotage watched her without expression. Some of the Fey saw her crown and bowed appropriately, while others stood defiantly and marked her passing. Not the warmest reception.

The trio successfully made it down the broad boulevard that led directly to the great stalactite that had been carved into the Rift Lord's palace. Faerie lights of all colours wound around its exterior, bringing out the shine of raw mineral deposits veined through the rock. Graceful, curving lines marked out windows and balconies that adorned the palace with a grandeur that was unmatched by any other structure in the Rift.

The Queen led them down a side alley, her eyes turned downward to search out one of the teleportation glyphs that conveyed more private guests up into the palace above, instead of using the main entrance like a supplicant. When she found what she was looking for, she took each of the Nephilim children by the hand like an impatient mother.

A moment later, they stood in a grand foyer lined with white-veined, black marble columns. A scattering of fresh rose petals trailed along the floor, and Arynessa allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief when she saw them. They would not have been laid out if Sol was not home. Silver sconces enclosed glowing Faerie lights that threw a pale, white glow across the entry hall, their stark illumination softened and muted by the swaths of scarlet silk hanging artfully from the ceiling.

Confident in her place here, the Queen waved off the little sprite girl who served the Rift Lord as a page and led her questionable bodyguards along the curved hallways that wound around the stalactite toward Solarius' personal chambers.

Aspen had a pretty decent appreciation for art because of who her mother was, but even Hunter could understand the beauty of the pieces on display throughout the palace as they climbed higher into the complex. A veritable fortune lay upon pedestals and in niches, hung on the walls under soft lighting and arranged on shelves with exquisite taste. Everything she had ever learned about the Fey following the Dark War had said that they had been left nearly destitute, the Seelie coffers emptied to pay restitutions to the Nephilim as part of the heavy penalties imposed by the Cold Peace. But here… the illegal activities of the Rift had built a rich life for its governor.

Outside of a set of ornate, double doors carved of ebony and trimmed with silver, the Seelie Queen brought them to a halt and turned to address the two Shadowhunters.

"It is my wish that you remain here while I speak with Solarius," she started stiffly before Aspen cut her off.

"Uh uhn. No way. I thought we went over this."

The Queen clenched her even, white teeth. "Bringing you here has already stretched my patience to the limit, and I believe that you may find him to be even less forgiving of your presence in his home. Give me five minutes alone with him to properly explain my agreement with your Consul. I will not simply arrive unannounced with Nephilim children in tow."

Aspen's eyes narrowed at being called a child again. "Two minutes," she let a mocking sing-song tone colour her voice, "and then ready or not, here we come."

The barely audible Fey cursing that escaped the Queen's lips was lost on Aspen, who had not yet progressed far enough in her studies to understand the exact vocabulary, but she got the gist as the other woman spun around and pushed her way into the Rift Lord's private chambers.

When the door clicked closed, Aspen crossed her arms and faced her parabatai. "Okay, can we just talk about Lucas for like, two seconds?"

Hunter gave her moody look in response, his dark eyes going darker within the shadow of his cloak's hood. "I'd really rather not."

"Yeah, well, too bad. What is your _problem_ with him? Every time I get to talk to him, you're there like some big, hulking…" She tried not to hear _moose_ in her head, and had to squash down _llama_ when it popped up instead. "…hulk."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "Hulking hulk? I kinda like the sound of that…"

Aspen glared back. "Don't change the subject. What's your _issue_?"

The quiet hallway outside the Rift Lord's rooms remained deserted, and they could only just barely hear the muffled voices of the Queen and her consort on the other side of the doors. Hunter leaned back against the wall next to one of the softly glowing silver sconces and bent one knee so that he could brace himself with one foot behind him on the marble. He ducked his head, almost as if he were ashamed of what he was about to say.

"I don't like the way you look at him."

Aspen blinked. "Don't you mean you don't like the way _he_ looks at _me_?"

"No, you heard me," he sighed. "I just… I don't want you to fall for a Mundane, okay?"

A quick flash of irritation shot through her. "Wow, that's rich, coming from _you,_ " she snorted. "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't even _exist_ if your mom hadn't fallen for a Mundane."

"Yeah? Then what's your plan, Asp?" Hunter challenged her, folding his own arms across his chest defensively. "How do you think it goes if you end up falling in love with him, hmm? Do you want him to risk drinking from the Cup, if he can even get into the Academy in time? He's got what, a year, maybe two, before he's too old to try?"

He looked down, allowing the hood to hide his face even more completely. "Do you have _any_ idea how torn up my dad was when he watched his friend die after drinking from it? I know he still lights a candle for him every year on the anniversary. Not everyone survives, Asp. Dad knows better than anyone, okay? He's spent his whole life recruiting for the Clave, trying to pick the right kids, trying to see that special something in them that means they'll be strong enough for Ascension. But sometimes he's wrong. And he has to live with it – knowing that he signed that kid up for a death sentence. Do you want that for Lucas?"

Aspen felt a squirm of guilt in her stomach. "Hunter… I don't – he wouldn't have to do it if he didn't want to…"

"Then what? Would you leave the Clave to be with him?" He took a shaky breath, determined to just get it all out, even if his voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. "Would you leave…" He swallowed and tried again. "Would you leave...me?" He uncrossed his arms just enough to allow his right hand to touch his chest over his heart, exactly where she had laid his _parabatai_ rune in the fiery aftermath of the destruction of Herondale Manor. "I can't lose you like that."

She felt like she had been punched in the gut. _I can't believe I never thought about that._ Raised in the most recent generation of Shadowhunters who fought shoulder-to-shoulder with the Ascendant, and even some of the children of the Ascendant now, it was easy to forget that there was still no way to be with a Mundane _and_ remain in good standing with the Clave. Either he would have to change… or she would have to leave.

Her eyes started to well up in frustration, and she scrubbed at them furiously before they had a chance to become actual tears. _It's a_ stupid _rule,_ she swore.

Impulsively, she stepped forward and put her arms around her parabatai. She tried to fill the hug with the apology that was in her heart for not thinking about how her choices would affect him.

"I'm sorry, Hunter," she said into his shoulder. "I'm an idiot. Mom says I get it from dad's side." She heard a _whoosh_ of air go through Hunter's nostrils, and felt him squeeze back. Without letting go, she pulled away a bit and looked up at him. "I don't know what's gonna happen with me and Lucas, but can you at least give me a chance to find out? I _like_ him…like… _like-like_ him, okay?"

She could just make out the line of his eyebrows as they drew together. "I think you just said 'like' three times in a row."

Aspen dropped the hug and punched him in the shoulder instead. "Oh, for the love of _Raziel_! Shut up, you-"

A jarring crash and a sharp crackle from inside the Rift Lord's room startled both of them out of their impromptu heart-to-heart and Aspen's eyes flew open wide. "I think her two minutes are up!"

Without a second thought, Hunter bowled through the ebony doors into what had probably been a very posh sitting room before the furniture had been flung outward to smash in smouldering bits against the white-veined, black marble walls. Solarius' furious green eyes were locked on Arynessa where she stood in a protective shield of fire when they burst in on the tail end of whatever he had been saying.

"…I will _not_ simply stand aside while you destroy everything I-" His words caught in his throat at the sight of the two Nephilim, their hoods blown back by the speed of their rush, and then true rage distorted his sculpted features as he practically screeched, "Nephilim!"

Blinding lighting gathered at his fingertips a moment before he thrust his hands forward at them, and Aspen had just enough of a warning to raise her arms in defense, bringing the bracers to bear. The magic-countering enchantments embedded in the armour by a warlock drew the lightning in, grounding the attack and nulling much of its power.

Much… but not all.

Aspen gritted her teeth in pain as the electricity raced through her, scorching her flesh under the bracers as she bore the brunt of the assault even as she thanked Raziel that her uncle Alec had made so much progress with the Downworlders after the New York Compact had been signed into law. Without the help of the warlocks, she seriously doubted that she would have been able to survive going toe-to-toe with anything that didn't rely on fangs and claws to kill. The upgrades to the Nephilim armouries had been substantial once the Downworlders had been permitted to work freely with the Institutes.

Solarius' magic sputtered out, temporarily dampened by contact with the warlock-made armour. She bared her teeth at him in an approximation of a smile. "Kinda thought you would try that!"

Hunter flew past her in a blur, his quarterstaff already whipping around to deliver a terrific blow to the Rift Lord. The Faerie dropped to his knees, stunned and unable to focus, horrified that he had been brought low by… by… _children!_

The Seelie Queen dispelled her fire shield and watched without expression as Aspen quickly subdued the Faerie Lord using the cold-iron fetters from her belt that had been intended for any Unseelie assassins. She had never dreamed that she would see them locked around her consort's wrists, nor that he would look up at her with such hatred in his eyes. Blood ran down the left side of his face from where Hunter had struck him, trickling into the corner of his mouth. He spat it at her, but it did not show against the black dress as it would have against her preferred white.

"You are making the biggest mistake of your life," he snarled at her, his white-blond hair in disarray. His chest heaved as he pulled against Hunter's hold on his arms, the cold-iron burning against his skin sickeningly.

"No," she told him coolly. "I already did that when I thought you would be different from the others." She felt a tightening in her chest, as if her heart were shrinking away to protect itself from the pain of seeing him turn on her so completely. Again, she felt the same sad empathy she had discovered for her mother. Here was the reason there was no Seelie King. Here was the reason Sammaradriel had taken whomever she had wanted to her bed and never more. Her voice hardened along with her heart. "The Seelie will obey, or they will die, Solarius. If the Nephilim plan succeeds, the Rift will not survive. It will collapse, destroying everyone and everything left within. There is no other way."

He bared his teeth at her in a rictus of pain. "Then _why_ are you _helping_ them? Stop them! Strike _now_ while they are weak!"

Aspen gave him a shake by the irons around his wrists and muttered under her breath for his benefit, "Do I look weak to you, idiot?" She received no response.

A fiery ridge started to burn around the edges of the sorrow in the Queen's heart, and her voice crackled with energy. She lifted her chin and stared down at him disdainfully. "Because this is where it ends, Solarius. Nephilim and Fey have quarrelled for centuries because of people like _you._ They will _stop_ fighting because of people like _me._ " She took a step toward him, her long legs seeming even longer in Sera's heels and clinging dress, and he couldn't help but stare. "We cannot live in the shadows forever, and this opportunity may never come again."

She stopped just short of where Aspen held him tightly in check. Her violet eyes bored into his relentlessly. _How did I ever believe that things could be different with him?_

"So hate me for closing the Rift. Hate me for allying with the Nephilim. Hate me for ending a quarter-century of conflict. Hate me for giving our people back the freedom they so desperately need." Each word seemed to drip with condemnation. "Hate me because I can take it. _That_ is what it means to rule, Sol. _I_ would do anything to see the Seelie stand proud amongst the Downworlders once more. _You_ care only for yourself."

Hunter exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Boom," he said softly. "Mic drop."

As angry as she was with Solarius' betrayal, the Queen could not find it in her heart to order the two children to put an end to him. Whatever else he was, he was still the father of the child that was growing within her, and if she could be quite honest with herself, was what he had done really treason against the crown? Going against an order from his Queen set him firmly in that category, but she herself was going against everything the Fey were. Who was the traitor here? A decision made in anger could not be taken back when clarity returned.

"Leave him," she ordered the Nephilim. "He can remain with his precious Rift so long as he sees fit." Her razor-edged glare found him one last time. "Let us see how committed you are to refusing my evacuation order. Let us see how long you will remain when I have told you how this ends."

Aspen gave her an incredulous look. "You're just gonna _leave_ him here? That is _such_ a bad idea."

Fire gloved the Queen's hand and threw an orange glow across her amethyst eyes. "I have already been disobeyed once today, little girl. Do not test my patience further."

With a shrug, Hunter raised his staff again. "Sorry, man." He brought it swinging around to club the arrogant Rift Lord once more, this time knocking the Faerie completely unconscious. Solarius collapsed onto the luxuriously-carpeted floor in an undignified heap, his arms still pinned behind him by the cold iron shackles.

"Come," the Queen bade them, already casting aside all thoughts of her former lover. "Without his cooperation, I doubt that we'll have much time to convince the Rifters to evacuate." She stalked out of the private chambers without a backward glance, confident that the children would follow.

Ethereal beauty went unmarked as the trio hurried past the stunning decor once more, the floor sloping downward as the corridor ran around the inside of the stalactite in which the palace had been carved. Natural-looking openings in the rock peeked through swaths of red silk curtains, offering frequent glimpses of the bustling cavern below as they spiralled downward. Aspen tried not to gawk, but it was hard. "Where are we going?"

"The Prisoner's Carnival," the Queen answered irritably. While she could not argue with the visual appeal of her borrowed heels, she was rapidly beginning to resent accepting them. They were not designed for angry striding.

Hunter shot a wondering look at his parabatai. "There's a carnival down here, too?" She shrugged back, just as confused as he was, and he nodded to himself. "Awesome."

The Queen heard him and tossed her long, lilac-hued hair back over her left shoulder to give him a withering glance. "It is not like your human carnivals." She faced forward once more and drew herself up as they reached another teleportation glyph that would take them down a level and outside, already bracing for what was to come. "Put your hoods back up. We do not need to complicate this anymore than we already have."

Back in the cavern once more, the Queen forced herself to slow down and breathe. The Faerie lights dotting the rock around her blinked lazily as she led her unlikely bodyguards along a side path that curved around to the east of Solarius' palace. The eastern terrace that both overlooked and connected the governor's home to the main part of the cavern had been set aside for what had become known as the Prisoner's Carnival. The Rift Lord's justice was swift against those who broke his laws within this hidden place, and the punishments were left on display as a warning to others. Any common supplicants seeking to reach the palace above would have to pass through the grim terrace if they did not have access to the teleportation glyphs.

The pathway widened ahead, and some of the unfortunate lawbreakers started to come into view. Aspen felt her stomach lurch when she began to recognize some of the twisted forms. "What the actual fu-" she whispered under her breath.

A werewolf hung lifelessly in the first 'exhibition', nailed to a crossbeam with silver stakes that had been deliberately driven into non-vital areas to prolong his suffering. His body would have tried to heal around the implanted spikes, but he would have had to slowly succumb to silver poisoning over days of suffering, unable to bleed out and die swiftly. A sign hung around his neck, written in the creature's own blood by a Faerie hand. _THIEF._

"By the Angel, don't look," Hunter breathed to her as they drew even with other Downworlders who had been tortured to death...

... or nearly.

Faint hissing marked where a vampire lay chained and nearly insensate under a slow drip of what must have been holy water. The source leaked from a twisted frame that turned lazily above. Several holes had been drilled through the apparatus so that the droplets would always land in a different place as the instrument turned, searing new blisters wherever they fell. _CHEATER._

Aspen turned her face down and stared hard at her feet. _Is this what we're trying to save? Are we bringing these monsters back into the Accords?_ She shuddered and swallowed thickly. _Have they run feral for too long to ever really change?_ She wished she knew the answer.

With her head down, she didn't see the raised platform at the edge of the terrace until it was almost too late. Arynessa climbed the handful of steps and took her place behind a stone podium of sorts that looked out over the rest of the cavern. It was clear that this was where the executioners could speak to the Rift, calling the Downworlders to the spectacle and firing up the crowd to witness their Lord's justice as both a form of entertainment and a sort of deterrent to any unlawful behaviour they may be considering.

"People of the Rift," the Queen's voice rang out across the subterranean haven, amplified many times over by the enchantment upon the podium. "Your Queen calls upon you now."

Curious heads turned up to see the Queen of the destroyed Seelie Court standing tall on the terrace above, and there was a noticeable drop in the general buzz of noise that had come from the marketplace a moment earlier. Sammaradriel had never once come to address them, leaving Solarius to govern as he saw fit so long as the profits flowed into the Seelie coffers. But now her daughter wore the crown and came before them without the Rift Lord by her side.

"A great change is coming for our people," she announced confidently, "but it will not come without a price. The Cold Peace is at an end, and we may once again walk safely in the world above."

A ripple of shocked gasps went through the Downworlders, particularly the Fey among them. Whispers murmured in a quiet sussuration across the cavern. The Queen was speaking plainly. There could be no lie in her words, no deception. But it was an impossible truth.

 _Okay,_ Aspen said to herself, _not a bad start._ She kept a wary eye on the crowd, and saw Hunter trying to very subtly watch the pathway on their right that led down to the marketplace despite the constricted view offered by his hood.

"All will return to what it once was between the Seelie and the Nephilim," she continued. "Our ancestral territories are restored to us, and must be cleared of the curses we laid down upon them with all haste to speed the return of our families."

The hum of the crowd turned excited, and Aspen could have almost sworn that she might have heard one or two cheers from the gathering where someone couldn't quite contain their joy. _Nice. Keep it up._ There were still no sounds of alarm from the palace above, nor any movement on the trail they had followed to come down to the eastern terrace. Inspired, she quietly slipped her phone out of her pocket and held it covertly, shielding the glow from the screen with her other hand.

"You _cannot_ be on your phone right now," Hunter hissed out the side of his mouth.

"Relax," she muttered back, "I've gotta get pics or this didn't happen. I can bribe dad into just about anything if I tell him I can show him what the Rift looked like."

The Queen could neither see nor hear her companions, and had carried on without interruption, "...but hear me when I saw that _all_ will return to what it once was. Accepted and protected under the Accords once more, we will no longer be able to maintain the Rift, nor continue the practices conducted within."

In a flash, the crowd shifted from elated to angry, and a few shouts lifted above the buzz.

She lifted her hands in response to stave off their protests. "It is a far more complicated decision than you can imagine. The Unseelie King is allied with an ancient evil that must be destroyed if our world is to ever be free from the touch of demons, and to strike at the source of his power, the Nephilim must also sever the flow of power that keeps the Rift open. The Rift will be destroyed when they strike, and you cannot be caught here when they do."

All trace of excitement vanished, and cries rose from nearly every throat below. Fear, confusion, and above all else, rage, fuelled the voices that echoed across the cavern in their fury.

The Seelie Queen raised her voice above them all, trying to be as hard as she needed to be to command. "By my authority as Queen of the Seelie Court and your sovereign ruler, I hereby order the immediate and complete evacuation of the Rift. All available Earthsingers and Leyweavers are to report to our temporary shelter on the western border of Idris to begin undoing the curs-"

Even the amplifying power of the podium could not lift her words above the absolute roar that accompanied the mention of sheltering in the land of their enemies. Aspen and Hunter could still hear her, and likely the part of the crowd that was closest to the edge of the terrace could as well, but the rest of the mob would not have heard the rest of her commands.

An unrecognizable, purple fruit flew up from the crowd and narrowly missed the Queen, sailing wide before splattering on the stone behind the raised platform.

 _Wow, mobs actually do throw fruit,_ Aspen mused in the back of her mind as her hands drifted down to graze the hilts of her weapons.

Arynessa was shouting to make herself heard, but it was too little, too late. More pieces of garbage and food launched upward at her, and she dodged aside just in time, backing away from the podium hastily. She was slowly shaking her head from side to side in mute disbelief when Aspen grabbed her arm.

"Time to go, your Highness."

Hunter's staff spun in a blur between the two women and the crowd, entangling a hurled cord with weighted stones before the weapon could strike them. He whirled around angrily to face the crowd, forgetting that his hood was not nearly as secure as it needed to be for this type of mission.

Screams of 'Nephilim!' rang out from those who recognized him for what he was, and then Downworlders began surging forward in a swarming press. The Rift had been inviolate against Nephilim for years, and the frenzy sparked by seeing one the Shadow World's secret police infiltrating their den of debauchery was truly terrifying.

"Go, go, GO!" Aspen shouted at the Queen, wrenching the dazed Faerie around without any more pretense of respect or deference. Their only hope was to outdistance the mob, double back through the palace, and use one of the glyphs to get around the Fey. With their cover blown, she ripped a seraph blade from her belt and called it to life, " _Sandophiel!"_

"No!" The Queen shouted hoarsely. "You must not kill them!" She slammed a shield of fire up behind them just in time, incinerating a hail of thrown blades that came raining down. The flames winked out, allowing a few of the late throws to slip through. Aspen cried out as one sliced along her upper arm, and Hunter swore as another stuck in the meat of his calf.

"Are you freakin' _kidding_ me right now?" Aspen howled back at the Queen, ducking on the run as more deadly projectiles came hurling along their path. She saw Hunter do a quick hop and a skip to reach down and tear the dagger free so that he could keep up.

"If you kill them, then there will be nothing left of this alliance to save!" The Queen screamed back.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aspen saw the surge of movement she had been dreading as the mob came boiling up the road from the marketplace below to flood onto the eastern terrace. Her heart pounded wildly in her throat, and she felt the dizzying rush that always came with a fresh infusion of adrenaline in her system. She had fought before, but never in a situation like _this_. And now she was being told that she couldn't _actually_ fight.

Hunter stopped running so abruptly that he skidded forward several feet and shouted, "Above us!"

Apparently, someone must have gone looking for the Rift Lord when the Queen's voice had filled the cavern... and they had not been pleased with what they had found. Guards armed with bows leaned out of the palace windows above and notched arrows, already sighting down with deadly intent.

Quick bursts of the brightest white flames flashed just in front of the archers, and they staggered back, shielding their eyes as they were temporarily blinded by the Queen's magic.

Slings and bows snapped from the road below, dangerously close now, and the Nephilim threw themselves back toward the wall of the palace to take whatever cover they could find. Hunter sprawled his larger body across the Queen and his parabatai, and Aspen heard him grunt in pain as he took several hits to protect both of them. She cried out when her out-flung leg took a hit from what must have been a rock hurled from a sling. An knife pinged off the rock wall at her back inches away from her head, and an arrow scudded away as it struck an ornamental plinth instead of her.

Panic raced through her veins. It wouldn't take the archers long to recover their sight. The Queen belatedly threw up another shield of fire around them, sweat forming a fine sheen across her forehead from the effort, and Aspen heard more fizzles as it vaporized the incoming weapons.

 _Pinned down_ , Aspen panted, _can't go forward, can't go back._ She grasped at every bit of training she had ever received for getting out of tight corners, but all of them relied on killing her way through whatever had her boxed in. She growled in the back of her throat. _To hell with the Queen's orders,_ she snarled. She pushed herself up from under Hunter's protective cover and raised her seraph blade. _If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting._

"What are you doing?" The Queen hollered at her, the protection of the shield wavering momentarily with her concentration divided.

"Giving us a goddamn chance!"

Aspen drew a second seraph blade. " _Uriel!"_

Light blazed up around her, and she felt rather than saw Hunter at her back, abandoning his efforts to protect the Queen. Whatever defending there was left to do was up to her now. If they were going to get out of here alive, they had to attack.

The Nephilim lunged forward as one.

And jerked to a halt as strong hands caught their collars. Seraph blades fell to the ground shock.

Darkness enfolded them.

A moment later, dazzling sunlight seared across their vision and they buried their faces in their hands as their _nyx_ runes blinded them. Eyes watering, Aspen fumbled for the stele in her pocket to cancel the rune.

When she could see again, she found Hunter blinking rapidly as he cleared his own _nyx_ rune. The Queen lay crumpled in the grass, her arms over her head, with her shoulders shaking slightly. Beside her...

"Cassius," Aspen breathed. The Faerie lay face-down on the back lawn of Morgenstern Manor, his remaining wing resting limply at his side. She dropped to her knees next to him and pressed two shaking fingers against his neck.

His pulse beat strongly back against her touch and she let out a shuddering breath of relief. He stirred at the contact and shifted to get his hands under his chest, pushing himself up slowly. The muscles of his shoulders and back flexed under the protection of his strange, armoured harness in response.

"I don't think you should..." she ventured to advise before he gave her a sidelong glance.

"I am well, child," he assured her in his quiet, stead voice. Somehow, he never sounded patronizing when he called them children. "I am simply... tired... It has been a long time since my strength was last tested so, but I know myself well. Time and rest will restore me." He rose to his feet in one smooth motion and offered his hand to Arynessa. "My Queen?"

She lifted her head from the cover of her arms, and Aspen was surprised to see the tear tracks running down the Faerie Queen's face.

Disdaining the outstretched hand, the Queen struggled to her feet in the unfamiliar dress and wrenched off the borrowed shoes, hurling them toward the manor in frustration. She turned her back on the other three without a word and stormed away. None of them were foolish enough to pursue her.

"Oh, my GOD!" A shout through the kitchen window, and Cassius quietly murmured that he wished to take his leave. He left before Aspen could even thank him for saving their lives.

Lucas flew out the veranda doors, his eyes wide when he saw Hunter and Aspen covered in bloody slashes, their gear torn in places. Aspen gingerly peeled off the braces that she had used to absorb the brunt of Solarius' attack. Her forearms were crisped underneath, blood oozing through the cracks painfully. Lucas gaped at the pair. "Are you _okay?_ "

"What?" Aspen tried to imitate her dad's best smile and then looked down in mock surprise. "Oh, this? Yeah. Happens all the time."

Horror remained stamped across Lucas' features as he stared at them. Hunter tested putting weight on his injured calf and was pleasantly surprised to find that the blade had not managed to penetrate far through the tough material of his boot. The punctures and bruises across his back from sheltering the women would need some work, though.

"Is there anything... I mean.. Can I..." Lucas stammered helplessly. "I know first-aid and CPR... I took a course at the youth centre last summer... I could probably patch you up a bit...?"

Aspen tried to conceal the grin that threatened to blow her nonchalant façade. _It's kinda sweet... really..._ "Sure..." She started sketching an _iratze_ just above her elbow and then caught Hunter watching her. He gave her the faintest nod of understanding and cleared his throat.

"I'm gonna go hop in the shower. After that, there had better be some hotdogs left around here somewhere..." He made his way back toward the manor with a slight limp, leaving them completely unchaperoned and alone.

"Should I go find some bandages, or something? Or water, or cloths, or-"

Aspen laid her finger over Lucas' lips to silence his fretting. The _iratze_ was already starting to work, and she sighed internally with relief.

"I _could_ let you play doctor for little while," she said coyly, looking up at him through her tousled golden hair, "but I'd _much_ rather skip straight to the mouth-to-mouth part."

Zeke cautiously peered into the previously-unused library on the second floor of the manor and found that the stacks of books piled around the room had not grown since the last time he had checked. Dusty, mahogany side tables bore the weight of unevenly-sized tomes, and smaller volumes had been set aside on the loveseat under the window and all over the cracked leather blotter that covered the wide desk at the far end. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases were filled with the books that had been left by previous generations of Morgensterns who would have rolled over in their graves if they knew that one of the Greater Fey was currently stashing as much of his personal collection as possible in this room.

Torn between wanting to reconcile with Cassius and throttling him for leaving again, he had been quietly spying on the other while the stacks grew with each trip between the manor and the Rift. This was the longest pause so far, and it worried him. Either the idiot was trying to get the goddamn bed here, or he was in trouble. Zeke was honest enough with himself to know that those two kids wouldn't be nearly enough to protect the Queen if things went south, and even Cassius would not be able to turn the tide, although he would feel honour-bound to try.

As a distraction, he picked up a slender, square-shaped book that had Cassius' distinctive style of binding. The faded grey suede felt smooth under his fingers, a little worn from use. No title or description was written on the cover or spine, leaving him to wonder at the contents. He flipped it open and inhaled in surprise.

The first page was a charcoal drawing, and it was like looking into a mirror. His own face smiled back at him, frozen mid-laugh, a glass of wine in his hand where he sat on the edge of the bed he had shared with Cassius in the loft over the bookshop. Everything was exactly as he remembered it. The loose cotton shirt unlaced at his neck, the tangled bedsheets, even the collection of small items and curiosities along the ledge behind the headboard.

Except that he had never posed for any drawings.

Zeke felt his heart lurch with a sweet ache.

 _He did it from memory._

The next page was a different scene – Zeke twisting to parry a strike from an indistinct figure wielding a double-bladed staff. His face was set with intense concentration, his form flawless, and every line of his body was in harmony. There was little doubt that his opponent was Rayce, but Cassius hadn't wasted a moment capturing the boy's features. It was as though the Faerie did not even see anyone else.

With a hint of guilt, he turned to another page and felt his hands shake. A very different version of himself lay sprawled over a battered divan, almost certainly black-out drunk judging by the number of bottles scattered across the floor and by how much of his body had already slid off the edge until his face was mashed into the rug. It had been years since he had even thought about his old rooms in the Seelie Court, the place he had lived before he had taken up residence with Rayce and Arynessa in their private sanctuary. He knew that if he could have actually seen the face in the drawing, it would have shown him looking two or three decades older than he looked now.

More images passed, each one calling up different memories. He found one that showed him at the precise moment Cassius had first spied him in the snow outside Paris after the Clave had dumped him there. The shattered Marks all over his body were blackened and bloody, the tortured flesh still raw from enduring the agony of the black _adamas_ stele in Antioch's hand. Hate had still burned in his heart back then, and Cassius had captured his anger perfectly.

There were more pages that showed the ugly scars that marked where he had been Stripped. Every one of them was a reminder of what following Valentine Morgenstern had cost him. The damage done by Antioch at Imogen Herondale's command had never really faded, the broken runes never smoothing over or turning white as all of his other rune scars had. For years, Zeke had been too ashamed to allow anyone to see his body, but he could not take back what Cassius had already seen on that first day.

The Faerie had been so patient through the fits of rage Zeke had gone through in the days and months after his sentence had been carried out. Despite all of the abuse hurled his way, Cassius had remained a steady presence. Even when the ex-Shadowhunter sank into a deep depression and crawled into the bottle, his one-winged angel had watched over him from a distance, silently waiting for enough time to pass so that he could begin giving Zeke back to himself.

A pair of tears escaped from the corner of Zeke's eyes, but his quick reflexes saved the page from being marred in any way. No matter how ugly he had let himself get, or how hard the years had been on his battered body, the drawings never reflected the ravages he had visited upon himself. Cassius had found a way to still capture the wonder he must have seen every day, to capture how _he_ truly saw Zeke.

If he had not been so caught up in memories from the past, he might have heard Lucas' shout downstairs. Instead, he laid the sketchbook down gently and lifted the cover of another book in the stack. And another. Some of the smaller ones were filled with writing instead of drawings, but they amounted to the same thing – they were diaries of a sort, and Zeke recognized the few snippets he read. Pieces of the life he had shared with Cassius were scattered all over the library, as if the Faerie had saved up every precious scrap and bound it all within his beloved books.

Zeke was thoroughly entranced by an exquisitely-detailed close-up drawing of his hand entwined with Cassius' when he felt the tiniest shift in the air around him. He snapped his head around toward the doorway and found the one-wing Faerie silently watching him with the ghost of a wistful smile on his lips.

"Cass..." Zeke breathed, taking in the tired lines on his mate's face, the slight droop of his shoulders, and the barely noticeable sag in his posture. His sharp eyes also caught the small smears of blood on his forearm and more on the leather armour he wore. He fought to keep himself in check. "Been picking fights without me again?"

Cassius closed his grey eyes for a moment and bowed his head to beg forgiveness. "The Fey thirst for blood and care not from whom it runs, it would seem. The Nephilim children defended the Queen well enough for a time, but all three would have been lost had I not intervened when I did. Those who dwell in the Rift did not receive the Queen's orders well."

With a snort of disgust, Zeke closed the book he had been flipping through and rolled his eyes. "Of course they didn't. They're idiots."

"As I am?" Cassius asked with a false note of playfulness in his voice, only half serious. He tugged at the strange gloves he wore when handling the twin _torahk-na_ at his hips. Dread rolled though him, an unfamiliar feeling that left a hollow sensation in his chest. He knew that the time he had left with Zeke was ticking down, and he would need to make amends before it was too late.

Zeke folded his arms and casually leaned back against the heavy desk. His voice came out a bit gruffer than he intended. "Nah. They're not _that_ stupid."

Undeterred, the Faerie laid his gloves atop one of the piles of books. "Shall I take that to mean that you are still cross with me?"

"I thought I was..." Zeke admitted grudgingly. He swept an arm out to indicate all of the new arrivals. "What the hell is all this junk? I thought you only agreed to Arynessa's stupid plan so that you could get back there and save all the important stuff."

Cassius touched his chest with the fingers of his right hand, just over his heart, and dipped his head again. "I did." Without looking up to see Zeke's reaction, he reached for the first of the buckles that secured his armour down his left side. He had not even begun to loosen them when he saw the hands he loved so well close over his own and take over.

"I don't understand you," Zeke whispered fiercely as he slipped the first catch and drew the strap back through the metal ring. With the Shadowhunter so close, it was easy for Cassius to breathe in his scent, and he felt the heady rush that always accompanied it. Even after over forty years, he still could not identify it or liken it to anything else he had ever known, but all that mattered was that it was _his._

He felt a line of goosebumps lift along his sides as Zeke's fingers brushed his skin and moved on to the second buckle, and the gentle rumble of Zeke's voice filled his chest as he continued, "I know I shouldn't have gotten pissed off, but that's just me, and you damn well knew it when you saved my sorry ass all those years ago." He paused and caught Cassius' eyes with his own, searching for the answers hidden there. "What's going on in that head of yours? Let me in," he pleaded.

 _Let me in_ , Jiahao's voice mocked in a whisper.

Cassius flinched away instinctively from the memory and saw the hurt in the Shadowhunter's eyes as he misunderstood the movement. He reeled Zeke back in toward him gently and stroked one delicate finger down the other man's face to lift his jaw lightly as an apology. Hesitatingly, he skimmed his lips across Zeke's mouth before deepening the kiss and inhaling that intoxicating scent once more.

Taken by surprise but certainly unwilling to press the issue when it finally seemed like the Faerie was letting down his guard, Zeke yielded easily and pulled his mate closer, his right hand moving confidently to undo the last buckle on the side of the armour as his left land traced up Cassius's chest and worked to free the top clasp. A gentle nip on his lower lip sent a thrill of pleasure through him. He had not realized how much he had missed this; just _being_ together without all of the trouble that had started the moment Sammaradriel's heart had stopped beating.

"It is... this place," Cassius whispered between breaths. "With you, and Rayce, and lovely Sera, and all the rest..." he raked his fingers up the back of Zeke's neck and pulled him closer even as he felt himself growing lightheaded. He broke their kiss and simply leaned his forehead against Zeke's as he struggled to catch his breath. "You Nephilim... I feel all that is in me that sings from my father's blood rise up in joy to be surrounded by the Children of Raziel. I have..." he struggled to find the words, "come alive so much more than I ever felt possible. It fills me with this... need... to do all that I may for Heaven's children, to protect them as never before." There was a hint of confused desperation in his tone that the other could not understand.

Zeke let the leather armour fall away as he finished with the last buckle and then he cupped the Faerie's face in his hands. "Look at me," he ordered softly. "You. Are. Doing. Too. Much." His thumbs traced the curve of Cassius' cheekbones. "Whatever you did to get that formula, all of this teleporting – you're exhausted. And I know you're still going to try to do more when Sera and Clary get back from the Citadel." He tightened his hold unconsciously. "Don't do this to me, Cass."

"The mortal struggle is so beautiful," the Faerie answered distantly. "An immortal is so rarely given the opportunity to observe it so closely. Your lives shine so brightly only to burn out a moment later, like falling stars in the night sky, and we are left to marvel at the passing and dream. Falling stars..." His tone changed, becoming focused once more. " _The_ Fallen Star, Ezekiel. The Morning Star must be stopped, and a light must burn brightly indeed to burn out the darkness that spreads from the Eternal Forest." He reached up and carefully lowered the Shadowhunter's hands from his face.

"All this talk about stars and night skies – who the hell do you think I am? That Blackthorn boy? He's a real piece of work." He shook his head and grew quiet. "You scare me when you get like this."

Cassius lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"Broody," the other man clarified. "It means you aren't done being stupid yet."

A wry smile lifted the Faerie's lips. "May I assume that you still consider my journey into the lands of Deep Faerie to be, as you would say, 'stupid'?"

"No," Zeke bit back without any of the anger that had filled him earlier. "That's not how I would say it at all. I would say it's 'moronic-beyond-belief', or 'so-unbelievably-stupid-that-I-have-no-idea-how-you've-even-managed-to-live-this-long'." He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Cassius' low-slung pants and tugged a little in frustration. "You _need_ me with you, you big idiot."

In response, the other man lowered his head to press a repentant kiss to his lips. "Why save the world," he asked as softly as the whisper of butterfly wings, "if only to lose all that I love in it? You have no protection against the madness of Deep Faerie – it would shatter your mind."

"Then don't go like this," Zeke implored desperately. "You can wait a few days, rest up and recover your strength."

"Baelerithon leaves us little choice." The strong line of the Faerie's shoulders dipped slightly. "He uses his strange new power to drain the land further with every passing hour. With the Seelie forced out of the safety of their Court and now evacuated from their refuge within the Rift, he will find them easy prey, particularly if the Consul cannot convince the Clave to open their borders. Quite aside from Baelerithon's own designs, the missing Hunters still remain in the shadows, a silent threat if any more of them choose to begin Turning more of their kind. Our two peoples have never been in more danger than they are now, and I must do whatever is necessary to see them safely through this time of crisis." He touched Zeke's face lightly. "I am stronger than you know," he promised.

"Phaw," Zeke grumbled, defeated. "I ought to just tie you up and sit on you, but you might like that."

Cassius stole one last kiss with a laugh that masked the heaviness that laid in his heart. "And I believe you would, once again, find yourself sitting on little more than an empty tangle of rope for your trouble."

The ex-Shadowhunter's mutinous mutterings were cut short by the sound of voices downstairs lifting in relieved greeting. Cassius' sharper hearing recognized Clarissa Herondale's appreciative thanks, and caught Rayce's grateful reunion with his beautiful Sera.

"Now what?" Zeke groused when he saw the alertness that swept through Cassius' body, washing away all of the signs of exhaustion that had been so evident moments before.

"They have returned from the Citadel with their prize," he answered grimly. "Now I must capture mine."


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains pulled across the window of Alec's borrowed guestroom and sparkled off tiny dust motes in the air like impromptu glitter. Alec felt the familiar pang of missing Magnus with a hitch in his gut. Seraphine had arrived to take over the warlock's seat on the Council, but her half-brother still remained within the Spiral Labyrinth to continue his search for a cure for her while he readied the base of Jiahao's concoction.

He scrubbed a hand back through his dark hair and sighed. As he had not received any messages in the night telling him that the Adamant Citadel had been burned down, he had to assume that the Iron Sisters had at least agreed to listen to Clary and Sera. If they were successful, Cassius would try his luck in Deep Faerie, and Magnus would be ready the moment he had the final two pieces of the puzzle. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. _So much to do, so little time._

Alec pulled on a pair of dark socks without really paying attention, distracted by his husband's absence. If Magnus had been here, he probably would have been insisting on coordinating their sock choices and advising what style of belt Alec should wear for the occasion. Instead, the room was quiet around him. He rose from the edge of the four-poster bed and caught a glimpse of himself in the rectangular stand mirror in the corner. With a sigh, he conceded that his sister would refuse to let him out of the house if he failed to shave again.

In the tiny two-piece ensuite bathroom attached to his guestroom, he started filling the sink with warm water. He noted the familiar pattern of scars and runes across his bare torso, a road map of the life he had lived so far. A gentler road in recent years, to be sure, but still not without its own risks. He wet his face absently as he let his eyes linger on the thicker ridges that traced the paths of the claws and teeth that had gotten through his defenses over the years, ugly tributes to the times when he had misjudged his position or overestimated his own abilities. He knew he wasn't perfect.

 _Definitely not perfect_ , Alec mused to himself ruefully when he let his eyes skim past the shiny patch of recently burned flesh where he had seared off the rune that had kept him under house arrest before the destruction of Alicante. _I've made plenty of mistakes._

He lathered the shaving cream over where his facial hair had only recently begun to grow in flecked with salt and pepper. It was only a matter of time before he would start greying at his temples as his father had done, and then Magnus would fuss outwardly while he fretted inwardly. They had long ago made peace with Alec's mortality, but it didn't lessen the dread that accompanied the slow march of time. It was days like today that made it seem so much more important that they had lived life together as fully as they had. Bitterly, he wished there was some way to know if what he was trying to do was leading him down the right path or right off a cliff. If the circumstances had been different, he might have even asked Sera to see what she could see with her strange gift, but it was far too dangerous for her to walk the dream world now that the Unseelie King was watching for her.

The first pass of the razor felt clean and crisp, the blade as sharp as any weapon he had carried, and he swirled the shaving cream off in the water with the satisfaction of having cleared a strip through the scruff that had grown during his negligence. It was oddly cathartic to stand over the sink and shave away not only the stubble, but also the fears and doubts that had been plaguing him. It was one thing to know in his heart that what he was doing was right, but it was another thing entirely to stake the future of the Nephilim on it.

Uncertainty had chewed at the edges of his resolve the pervious night while wearing faces from the past. Valentine Morgenstern's smug smile had leered back at him in the mirror while he had wrestled with the decisions that had brought him to this point. _And what makes you so very different from me,_ the phantom memory had taunted.

 _Because I'm doing what's right,_ Alec had protested stubbornly.

 _So was I_.

The razor froze for a moment before continuing its slow progress, stroke by stroke, as he let the blade glide across his skin in silent contemplation.

Both men believed in their cause absolutely, and had accepted the consequences for their actions. Both had needed to reach out a hand to seize control of the tiller that steered the Clave and forcibly change the course of history without their consent. Lives had been and would be lost for what these two men believed. They were both revolutionaries, no matter how the lines were drawn, though Alec had to tell himself that he had chosen to fight his battle differently.

But all of those arguments ended today.

The Queen of the Seelie Court would be journeying to the Rift any minute now, if she had not left already, and there was no going back now for either of them. For better or for worse, they were bound together until all of this came to an end, one way or another.

He cupped his hands under the trickle of water that still ran from the faucet and splashed it up to rinse away the last of the lather. His hands found the towel hanging from the ring on the wall and he patted his face dry slowly, his heart and mind at ease with the completion of the almost ritualistic task.

The Consul stared back at his clean-shaven reflection and braced his hands on the edge of the sink for a moment as it drained. A smouldering fire had kindled behind his deep blue eyes, the same kind of fire that had won him his position a little over a decade ago.

 _This is it._

He pushed away from the sink with a sense of finality.

It was not until he was finishing with the last button on an almost uncomfortably-snug grey dress shirt back in the bedroom that he heard footsteps on the stairs outside his door, and then his sister was there.

"Big day, big brother," she said softly. Knee-high black leather boots encased legs that seemed to be poured into the tough dark material that served as body armour for the Nephilim. Her black jacket was unzipped, revealing the empty weapons belt underneath, and Alec lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

"You _do_ remember that no one is allowed into the Council chambers with weapons, right?"

She crossed the room and pressed a kiss to his cheek lightly. "Of course. I'm only going to be watching for the ones who _have_ forgotten that."

"Very comforting," he answered wryly, only mildly concerned about her fears. He slipped an expensive white-gold watch, a gift from Magnus, over his right wrist and fastened the clasp. The Council had been called to sit in session, but they had not been given an agenda. The most popular theory making its way through the rumour mill was that they were going to receive an update about the world's wards from the team that had been sent to Wrangel Island in the aftermath of what had happened. Although that was not the case, he was very relieved to know that everything was still quiet up there, with the notable exception of Aline, who was not adjusting well to having house guests for the first time in two decades.

"I'm not here to be comforting," Izzy reminded him, her tone dark as she smoothed down his collar affectionately. "I'm here to keep you from getting in over your head."

He slid his hand up over hers and squeezed it gently. "I think you're a little late for that, sis."

They shared a private smile and she touched her forehead to his. "I know you can do this, Alec," she said confidently. "I'm here for you. _We're_ here for you," she amended, thinking of Jace already pacing a track in the Turkish rug downstairs that Simon had brought back from Istanbul as a gift for their tenth wedding anniversary. "Come on," she added, linking her arm with his. "You can't be late for your own funeral, now can you?"

"Oh yes," he muttered under his breath, " _very_ comforting."

The walk to the Gard was not very long, but everywhere Alec looked, he could already see the signs of Alicante's recovery from the Unseelie treachery. Many of the ruined homes were still hunkered down piles of rubble and charred belongings where the families had fled and not yet returned, or where they had been killed in the attack. But other sites were already being cleared for rebuilding, and he even saw one or two lots where fresh lumber and stone were waiting to be shaped into a new home. Shadowhunters grew up losing what they loved; this was not very different. They mourned, they grieved, and then they moved on.

 _Which is why I can't wait any longer._ He thought about the messages he had received back from New York, the invitations accepted to listen to what he had to say. Many more missives had gone unanswered, but he had to hope that they would still come tomorrow. He adjusted the strap of the leather satchel on his shoulder, conscious of the symbolic weight of the carefully-folded document and letters within.

Jace remained uncharacteristically quiet at his side, no jokes to tell as they passed through the destruction of the City of Glass. The only parts of the city that remained completely untouched by the disaster were the demon towers that rose above the homes and shops, their glittering faces bearing silent witness to the devastation below, the eternal guardians of the Shadow World's guardians.

The steps to the Gard sped by under his feet as he hurried up to the massive doors that fronted the fortress-like building. He avoided letting his eyes drift across the plaza to where the charred remains of the Consul's residence still laid untouched by the restoration teams at Alec's request. Very little had survived the unnatural fires of the Unseelie King's attack, and he could not spare the time and effort to sort through the wreckage until he knew whether or not he would even still live in Alicante after today.

Shadowhunters from all over the world had already crowded into the council chamber inside the Gard, packing into the galleries and filling every available seat on the floor. Alec only managed to mask his surprise with effort; given everything that had happened, he had not dared to hope that he would have such a full house for what he had planned. A tendril of worry threaded through him when he could not decide if he considered it a good thing or a bad thing that there would be so many witnesses.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Izzy huffed at his side as they paused at the crush of the standing-room-only crowd stuffed into the very back of the chamber. "I'm getting stuck back here while you guys get prime seating? Ugh." She turned out her calf to emphasize the four-inch heels on her boots. "And you guys wonder why I never leave home without heels. At least I'll be able to _see._ "

Jace blew her a kiss, turning around to keep walking backwards toward the side entrance reserved for Council members. "You're right – I doubt that even _I_ could pull those off as well as you do. I guess I'll just have to, you know..." he sighed dramatically, "go sit in my big, cushy chair."

She stubbornly refused to rise to the bait, shifting her attention back to her brother. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and tell him that everything was going to be okay, but she knew that there were already eyes watching the Consul, and she couldn't risk letting them see how concerned she was for him. Instead, she settled on giving him a knowing smile. "You've got this," she reminded him under her breath. "Now get up there."

Alec followed the hallway that bent toward the side entrance and nodded to little Claudia Blackthorn, who had returned to continue serving as a page for the Gard and was currently keeping watch on the door to the council chamber. The last time he had seen her, she had nervously summoned him to Everett's one-sided meeting that had been carefully stacked with the zealot's supporters to have Alec removed from office. Today, she beamed at him and waved excitedly, her dirty-blond hair bouncing at her shoulders.

"Everyone's already here, Consul! You're the last one!"

"Thank you, Claudia," he murmured as he passed her and skirted along the narrow walkway behind the chairs that lined the dais across the front of the room. A long, low desk spanned the entire length of the mahogany baulstrade, uniting the seats of the all of the Downworlder representatives with that of the Inquistor and the Consul in the centre. As promised, Jace was already reclining idly in his big, cushy chair to the left of the Consul's seat as he made casual conversation with a diminutive female warlock on his left. Alec allowed himself a tiny smile for... _well, I suppose she's my half-sister-in-law._ He squeezed past the chic but sleepy-looking vampire representative who gamely tolerated these daytime meetings, Selene Delacroix, and Cinder scooted her own chair forward to let him by just in time for him to overhear the quiet exchange between his parabatai and the newest member of the Council.

"... I'm telling you – you never forget your first," Jace said with a wink.

Seraphine rolled her eyes at the childish joke. The powerful glamour that Magnus had woven to conceal the ghastly red irises and the scarlet pupils that had manifested after his ill-fated expedition to Peru still held strong, and only her customary bright shade of green showed. "Honestly, I really have no idea what anyone expects me to accomplish by being here. I haven't the faintest idea what I'm doing."

"Then you'll fit right in," he quipped back. "Here, watch me for a sec." Jace straightened his face and arranged his features into a carefully crafted expression of interest mixed with concern. He squared up his jaw a bit and nodded gravely. "You see? Like this. You nod a little, but also make sure to frown so that you don't look like you're favouring one side or the other. If you think you can handle it, make some noncommittal noises in the back of your throat every now and then. When enough of us do it, we all agree that we should schedule a meeting to set up a meeting to go over the proposed agenda for the next meeting."

The werewolf on Seraphine's left, leaned forward and offered Jace a low-five with one dark-skinned hand under the desk. He was only in his early thirties, and still adjusting to his own relatively new position on the Council, having taken over for Luke after his passing in May. A gold earring shone in one of his ears when he turned his head to give Seraphine a gleaming white smile. "Yep. And then _that_ meeting will somehow get cancelled, and we won't _possibly_ be able to reschedule it before we break session for winter holidays."

"Win... winter holidays?" Seraphine sputtered. "It's _August!_ "

"Practically around the corner," Jace answered dryly. "No time at all to actually accomplish anything, really."

She narrowed her eyes and gave both men an equal share of her glare, suspicious that they were taking advantage of her naivete. "That's absurd."

Alec thumped the back of Jace's chair in warning and set his satchel down under the desk, ready to call the meeting to order, and Jace sat up. He had to whisper out of the corner of his mouth as the room quieted in response to Alec's raised hands. "No, that's politics."

"Good morning," Alec called out in a clear voice with an easy strength that came from years of presiding over the Council. "I would ask that you all be seated, but I can see that that would not be possible today." A murmur of polite laughter rippled across the room and he smiled graciously, already working to get on their good side. "I know that this is a difficult time for many of us, and I am grateful that you were able to take the time to attend this special Council session. We have much to rebuild in our city, but it is my hope that we can rebuild something much greater than that before we leave here today. This meeting is now called to order."

While those who had seats settled down, he took hold of the corner of his agreement with the Seelie Queen and pulled it from his bag gingerly. He exhaled.

 _Here we go._

"I apologize for failing to submit an agenda in advance of this session, but it was not until very recently that I was sure that I would be able to present this to you today." Alec unfolded the creases and smoothed the sheaf on the desk for a moment before turning it around and holding it up for the assembly to see. "This," he said confidently, "is the beginning of the end of the Cold Treaty with the Seelie Court."

Eyes widened in shock all around the room and whispers spiked all around as Shadowhunters elbowed their neighbours, and Alec took advantage of the fact that no one had outright shouted him down. "When the provisions of this document are executed, the Seelie will once again be welcomed back under the protection of the Accords. The Rift, which has stymied our abilities to police for the better part of a decade, will be closed down permanently. We will offer sanctuary to the displaced Seelie while they rebuild their Court and reclaim their old territories. In turn, they will lift the curses they laid down upon their lands twenty-five years ago and help heal the recent damage caused behind their borders of late."

A dark-haired man in his late fifties with a narrow face and high cheekbones rose and signalled that he wished to be acknowledged.

Alec nodded in his direction. "The Chair recognizes Mason Waybrook, Head of the Melbourne Institute."

"I don't mean to spit the dummy here, but a whole lot of us up and carked it between the those Unseelie tossers sending the city tits up and then getting all them demons out the wazoo all of a sudden. I don't know if you've hit the turps, or just have a few roos loose in the top paddock, but you've got a Buckley's chance of getting the Fey to work with you on this one, mate, or us with them after this dog's breakfast." He cleared his throat in the silence the followed, but remained standing.

The Consul gave the Institute Head a level look. "It would behove you to remember to address this Council respectfully, Mr. Waybrook."

Jace breathed sideways at Seraphine. "Was that even English?" She only gave him a tiny shake of her curls in response.

The Australian dipped his head once. "Nah, yeah, Consul. I'm all for giving them a fair shake of the sauce bottle, but I must, _respectfully_ , say that I don't reckon they'll agree to this."

"The Seelie already have," Alec declared.

Louder rumblings went around the room, and it was possible to make out enough of the general gist that the Nephilim were not happy to hear that their Consul appeared to have had private dealings with the Fey in full violation of the law. More than a few were muttering that this sounded a lot like what had gotten him removed from office the first time.

Another man rose from the opposite side of the room, the white runes emblazoned across his black jacket marking him out at once for anyone who might not know who he was. Alec inclined his head to the one-eyed man. "The Chair recognizes Diego Rocío Rosales, Executor of the Centurion Order."

Jace's grumble was nearly inaudible. "And _I_ refuse to recognize how many of those goddamn jackets he owns. Ridiculous." The werewolf on the end caught the comment with his more sensitive hearing and struggled not to laugh.

Diego swept a piercing look across the assembly with his one good eye. "Please allow me to be absolutely clear on this – the Consul acted with the full consent and foreknowledge of the Scholomance in this matter. All of his negotiations with the Seelie Queen were sanctioned under my personal authority as Executor, and I will neither hear nor accept any allegations to the contrary." He lowered himself back into his seat with a stately grace that invited no challenge.

Inwardly, Alec sighed with relief for the white lie. He remembered Diego's embrace in the tiny cabin on Wrangle Island during the aftermath of the battle and his quiet words, ' _You're more than they deserve, Consul. What you have done here will not be forgotten.'_

Speculative murmurs buzzed through the assembled Nephilim in response, but there was something about the characteristics of the tones that lifted Alec's spirits. They sounded contemplative now, not condemning, and he let himself dwell on just how important Everett's misguided attempt to seize control of the Clave may have been. By coercing and carefully recruiting those Shadowhunters who still found themselves set against change, he had inadvertently united them into a single unit that could be dealt with in one sweeping blow. Following Everett's fall, his closest supporters had found themselves behind bars, quite literally, by Rayce's own hands, and those who had merely lent their support to the false Consul had melted away in the aftermath of both Alicante's destruction and the world-wide demon attack spearheaded by Asmodeus. A great number of them had not returned to their home city, choosing to silently leave a Clave they no longer believed in, and Alec had wisely chosen not to pursue them once he had seen his window of opportunity opening. At any other time in the history of the Nephilim, the desertion of dozens of Shadowhunters would have sparked a global manhunt to bring them to justice, but there was no real way of distinguishing who had been killed... and who had simply vanished into the shadow of the chaos.

Alec's landslide re-election a week after the events of Wrangel Island had only confirmed his suspicions; the older generation was fading into obscurity, and the newer generation was ready for the change they so desperately needed to survive. All that remained was to show them the path.

A balding Asian gentleman wearing a Council robe that likely dated back to the 1980s rose from his seat along the left side of the hall and lifted a single, knobbly-knuckled finger to indicate his desire to speak.

"The chair recognizes Togoshi Masuhiro, Head of the Tokyo Institute," Alec acknowledged with a nod of respect for one of the longest-serving Shadowhunters on the Council.

"Thank you, Consul," the man began in a quiet, articulated accent, calming the whispers that still ran rampant through the room so that they could better hear his soft voice. "This... agreement... that you have negotiated with the Queen of the Seelie Court – it is not a small thing. Many long years have fallen away like cherry blossoms on the wind since the Cold Treaty was passed into our law. Such a great change... it cannot be decided in a day." A few heads bobbed in agreement. "I humbly motion for an adjournment to grant us the time needed to carefully review the dissolution order at a later date."

Jace shifted in his chair, leaning back and drawing up his right ankle to rest on his left knee. He scrubbed his hands back through his hair and huffed under his breath just loud enough for Seraphine to catch, "Here we go." She could practically hear his eyes rolling.

Hours spent planning for every likely objection to his grand design had prepared Alec for what he had known would be a go-to strategy for the more recalcitrant members of the Clave, and Jace's eternal Plan B: Stalling.

"Ordinarily I would be inclined to agree with you, but I fear that any delay on our part may result in the complete annihilation of the Seelie, if not of the Fey at large." His tone was absolutely serious, and the assembly quelled the momentary rise in volume caused by those who had voiced their agreement with the Tokyo Institute Head. "Even as we speak, the Queen has already begun the evacuation of the one place we have been utterly unable to penetrate – the Rift. Her Court was buried by the treachery of the Unseelie King, destroyed in a single night," he continued, careful not to specify that it had been her newly-crowned brother, and not the same King who had betrayed Alicante, "and the Rift was serving as their last refuge from his terrible reach."

Reactions ranging from mild surprise to outright shock transformed many of the faces of the Nephilim gathered before him. The razing of the Seelie Court had not yet become common knowledge, but there were enough Shadowhunters in the crowd who had heard the trickle-down rumours to confirm his declaration to their neighbours, which he allowed for a many long moments before lifting his voice again, "If we allow the terms of the Cold Peace to stand, the Seelie will be forced to choose between being slaughtered by their Unseelie brethren, unable to take up arms against them, or submitting to our justice as they are executed for violating the Treaty. Neither battle is one they can win."

He kept his voice steady through force of will. _So close now._ "If this council votes to ratify the agreement set down by myself and the Queen, the Seelie will take up their weapons once more to fight by our side. Their rights, as set down by the Accords, will be restored, and they will once more fall under our protection. Today, we must choose between being swords or shields. Only we can save them from extinction."

"Let them wipe each other out," a woman's voice said from somewhere in the middle of the assembly, loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to be disciplined for speaking out of turn.

Alec's raptor gaze pierced through the crowd to find her, and his blue eyes locked on to hers in an icy stare. "Catalia Dearborn. May I remind you that the _only_ race we have been tasked with 'wiping out' is the demonkind who find their way into our realm? Or have you forgotten so easily?" She looked down, unable to bear the weight of the judgement behind his eyes. While she had been proven innocent of any involvement with her older brother or her niece's seditious actions years earlier, she had carefully toed the line between obedience and rebellion since then. He remembered her face from the jeering crowd that had removed him from office a nearly month earlier. "The Fey were our allies once, and they may yet be again if we look forward instead of back."

Almost right against the back wall of the chamber on the left side, a fair-haired man lifted his arm and pointed threateningly up at the dais. "You would force our hand, Lightwood!" He did not wait to be recognized. "You give us no choice but to accept those animals back into the Accords or sit back and condone genocide! You go too far!"

Alec's legendary self-control wavered, and he pushed himself up from his chair, bracing his hands on the balustrade that ran along the raised platform. "I force _nothing_. The Queen chose to return to her people before she knew the decision of this Council. She chose to do so because she already knew every word of dissent that she would hear if she came here today. She chose to do so because she wanted you to _see_ that the Seelie are willing to take the first step, to trust us even as we refuse to trust them. Despite everything that our races have done to each other over the centuries, she still believes that there are those among us who are as tired as she is of the bigotry that divides out peoples. She still believes that there are those among us who will vote to put an end to a harsh and one-sided punishment that has crippled the Shadow World for a quarter of a century. She has placed her trust in you, given you the power to save or destroy her people, because she believes that we have learned from the mistakes of our forebearers."

Every ounce of frustration that had burned through him for more than two decades felt like it was pouring out all at once, lanced at last like an abscess by the fear of coming so close only to fail in the end. The time for games and clever manoeuvring had passed, and he was tired of playing. " _Look_ at our history! The greatest threats to the Nephilim in the last fifty years have come _not_ from without, but from _within_ our own ranks! For so long as we continue to refuse to accept the Downworlders, there will always be another Valentine. For so long as we continue to hold ourselves above them, there will always be another Sebastian. For as long as we continue to try to control them, there will always be another Dearborn." He jabbed a finger down at the dissolution agreement he had drawn up and signed with the Queen of the Seelie Court. " _This_ is your chance to break the cycle. I am asking you to look past simply rebuilding our city, and instead look to how we can rebuild the world – a world without division."

He forced himself to slow his breathing, and he sat down straight-backed in his chair with a flush in his cheeks. "I believe there was a motion made for adjournment."

An unidentified voice snapped out a curt, "Seconded," from the crowd, and Alec was forced to call for a vote.

"All those in favour?"

A smattering of hands lifted tentatively, the Shadowhunters searching futilely for more support among their brothers and sisters only to be met with disappointed head shakes and frowns of disapproval.

Hope bloomed again in Alec's chest. "All those opposed?"

There was no need to count the rush of hands that shot up.

Cinder resisted the urge to grin, maintaining the cool façade of the Inquisitor she had become to help support Alec in his bid to tear down the Cold Peace. She rose at his side.

"The assembly will now vote to ratify the agreement negotiated to return the Seelie to the protection of the Accords and reinstate their rights and freedoms as they were before the Dark War. All those in favour?"

There was a pause, a collective intake of breath as each person waited for someone else to be the first to cast their vote. Alec had asked his brother and sister to let the others lead, to avoid showing favouritism, and he felt a lurch in his stomach as he wondered if he had made a mistake.

But then one hand rose, and then another, and then a veritable wave of disbelieving nods as the Nephilim looked around in awe at what was happening. More and more of them joined the tide, some mouthing incredulous words to friends or family as the weight of what they were doing settled in. It had to be the most divisive treaty the Clave had torn down in the better part of nearly two centuries, ranking right up there with the abolition of taking spoils when the First Accords had been signed into Covenant law in 1872. Just as the previous generation had decided in a single day to persecute and punish an entire race twenty-five years earlier, they voted to undo the harm and begin healing the damage caused.

Formality compelled Cinder to ask for those not in favour to raise their hands. Very few chose to show their dissent so openly, Catalia Dearborn chief among them, and many of the Nephilim who had not chosen to support the ratification simply abstained from voting at all. The Inquisitor nodded to Alec and resumed her seat on his right.

The Consul rose one last time, triumph burning in his heart. "The vote passes with the greater consensus-"

A bowstring snapped in the same instant that Alec felt a sharp tug on his left arm and then a staggering impact just under his right clavicle. The force of the impact knocked him back into his chair awkwardly and he stumbled over it sideways into Jace, taking them both down in a tangle of limbs with a black-fletched arrow shaft lodged in the Consul's chest.

A man's voice shouted over the confusion from the very back of the room. "The Circle has no beginning or end! _In hoc signo vinces!_ "

The shooter banged through one of the swinging double doors that led back out into the hallways of the Gard, and the erupting chaos only served to cover his retreat as the over-capacity crowd clogged the two aisles that led to the back exits.

Stuck watching the proceedings from just inside the other door where Alec had left her, Isabelle Lightwood was, however, perfectly positioned to pursue her brother's would-be assassin. She blew through the second set of brass-plated mahogany doors and flicked her wrist aggressively to release the coils of electrum that had remained hidden under the sleeve of her jacket. The familiar, warm handle slid into her palm even as she pounded down the hall and she slashed forward with the weapon before the attacker had time to dodge around a corner and out of line of sight.

The length of electrum snapped out and snared the man's left ankle, and she hauled back on the whip savagely to yank him off his feet. He landed hard on his chest and had the wind knocked out him, leaving him unable to manage more than a long, strangled wheeze as she gave a sharp twist of her wrist to loop the cord around his other ankle and pin his legs together. His hands clawed uselessly at the blue carpeting that lined the centre of the hallway as she dragged him back toward the Council chamber.

The state of the crowd was somewhere between 'alarmed' and 'panicked' when she kicked the swinging doors inward, completely unconcerned by the solid thuds on the other side that indicated that she had managed to hit a few of the Nephilim pressed back against the walls by the confusion.

Shadowhunters quickly back-stepped to clear a path up the aisle for her, further compacting the milling mass in the centre section of the room, and she drew her prize along in her furious wake. Once she cleared the front balustrade and reached the open area in front of the dais where everyone would be able to keep an eye on the attacker, she dropped the handle of her whip and vaulted over the railing toward where her brother was panting in pain on his back.

"Alec!"

The black shaft protruded from an uneven bloodstain on the Consul's shirt. His hands were knotted at his sides, and a sheen of sweat had sprung up across his forehead. He unclenched his teeth and lifted his head to look down at the arrow.

"By the Angel, is this what this feels like?" He let his head thump back down on the wooden floorboards in defeat. "I'm glad I'm usually..." his breath hissed in, "on the other end of this."

Jace's lips were bloodless with fear, but he felt a quick quirk pull them up involuntarily for a moment. "Did you just... make a joke? _Now?_ "

"Relax," Alec winced as he reached up awkwardly with his left hand to fumble at the buttons of his shirt. He only managed to get two undone before the lightweight body armour he had strapped on that morning became visible. "Dad's... last lesson." He exhaled sharply as he reached out to touch the back of Jace's hand. "Thanks... for pulling me..." Neither one of them wanted to think about where the arrow would have struck if it hadn't have been for Jace's angel-touched reflexes and a lifetime of seeing unseen threats just a moment sooner than anyone else.

"Hey- HEY!" A woman shouted over the loud buzz of the Clave, pointing at the would-be assassin through a gap between crowded shoulders. "Somebody _stop_ him!"

A bloody froth bubbled up between the man's lips and his entire body began to convulse in rigid spasms. Three Shadowhunters leaped over the railing to hold him down, two of them pinning his shoulders and arms while the third held the shooter's electrum-wrapped legs. The man's head jerked back and forth, and he choked out a strangled gurgle, spattering blood across the faces of the two Nephilim holding him down.

Without hesitation, Seraphine jumped up on the long desk that ran in front of the Downworlder representatives and cried out in an unfamiliar language, flinging her small hands outward toward the man with an upward twist of her fingers. He immediately froze in place, every limb locking in whatever position it had been when she had invoked her magic, his eyes still wide and filled with fear.

Jace was torn, unwilling to leave Alec's side, but unable to resist his natural urge to charge in to the rescue. He twisted around on his knees to try to see over the edge of the desk.

"Immobilization spell?" He asked the warlock.

"No," she answered shakily. "Much more potent. Immobilization would only prevent him from flailing about, but would fail to halt whatever poison or spell he's gone and popped." Her glamoured green eyes looked troubled as she peered down at the seemingly-petrified attacker. "It's a stasis spell." She dropped her voice and hesitated, wondering how much she should share with them. "Not a cure... just a way to buy more time."

 _And it's what Magnus will have to do to me if I have any more episodes inside the city,_ she thought darkly. The stasis spell had been designed by warlocks to be used against demonic parents who came looking to kill their offspring in this world, halting both their corporeal form _and_ any magic they may have set in place. There were... complications... associated with transmuting the spell to be used on half-humans, like another warlock, werewolf, or Shadowhunter.

She had not felt any stirring of the strange energy that had infected her on Wrangel Island, not since returning to the glass city and the protection its demon towers seemed to offer, but they could not afford to make any mistakes. They only had guesswork and imagination to work with when it came to her condition, and she lived in fear that whatever had taken root inside of her would one day grow too strong to be contained. If it came to it, she was prepared to accept the risk if her half-brother had to use the spell against her.

Jace's brow furrowed slightly as he registered the change that had come over her. "Are you okay?"

She flashed a smile back at him and brushed one loose, dark curl back from her face. "Just ducky, love." He narrowed his eyes at her even as Alec managed a weak laugh from the floor behind him, sparking another teeth-grinding grimace and a flurry of worried fussing from his parabatai and sister.

In short order, Inquisitor Whitescar dismissed the rest of the assembly and knelt down to do some quick work on the Consul to remove the arrow. Freed from the press of the crowd, two of the Nephilim were tasked with carrying the shooter to the infirmary and keeping him under guard in case Seraphine's spell did not work as she had intended. Only a bloody smear on the floor marked where he had very nearly managed to commit suicide rather than allow himself to be taken alive for questioning. The Mortal Sword would provide answers if he could be cured and awoken from his stasis.

The Downworlder representatives rose to leave as well, but Alec waved them back down. "No so fast," he bade them, "I had been planning to speak to you in private after the meeting, and I'm not going to let a little something like getting shot change that."

"You need to rest," Jace growled at him protectively. "Work is _literally_ killing you, and you still can't take a hint. _Literally. Killing. You._ "

"It won't take long," Alec assured him. "You need to, as your daughter would say, ' _chill out'._ "

"No." Jace crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. "No, I do not need to chill out. I do not chill out when someone tries to kill my brother. I am actually _known_ for my distinct _lack_ of chill when the people I love get hurt." He exhaled sharply. "I refuse to chill. There will be _no_ chilling."

Isabelle crouched guardedly at her brother's side. "You don't have to do this right now, Alec. We should send a message to Magnus and-"

"No," Alec cut in firmly. "Do _not_ tell him about this. We're too close to risk distracting him-" He squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a groan as Cinder pried the gory arrowhead from his shoulder. Panting again, he raised his eyes back to catch his sister's concerned gaze once more. "Don't," he pleaded quietly. "Not now." He reluctantly hardened his tone when he saw the look on her face. "I forbid you from contacting Magnus. That is an _order._ "

Perfectly-plucked eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

She tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder as she rose back up to her full height and stood over him with her hands on her hips. "Fine. But he's going to find out sooner or later, and I'm going to give you some free marriage advice: He should hear it from _you._ But," she sniffed, "you go ahead and do whatever you want."

Cinder felt her ears burning as she ducked out of the way so that Jace could apply a pair of _iratzes_ to his parabatai's shoulder. The conversation was starting to sound distinctly personal, and if there was one thing that she wasn't comfortable with, it was getting stuck in the middle of other people's private lives. As perceptive as ever, Alec picked up on her unease and reached out to her.

"Help me up, will you?" He felt a fresh wave of heat and nausea roll over him as he briefly rose before flopping back into his chair. Heedless of the stains it would leave, he swiped his sleeve across his forehead and pushed his slightly damp hair back. "We may as well keep this informal, given the circumstances." He gestured to the other chairs and the desk in front of him. "Please."

The vampire representative, Selene, slid back into her seat languorously and crossed one leg over the other, her dark pantsuit immaculate despite the peculiarity of her daytime engagement. Cinder, Jace, and Isabelle all edged backwards into places on the desk, leaving Seraphine to take the seat on Alec's left and Roran, the werewolf representative, to loom over her from behind.

"What is so important," the alpha asked patiently in a low, rumbling voice, "that it could not wait until you have had a chance to recover from an attack like this?"

Alec gave him something between a sad smile and a grimace as he shifted in his seat and sent a new ripple of pain shooting through his shoulder. "It's precisely _because_ of an attack like this that I can't wait any longer. And it's likely to get worse before it gets any better. I don't want to sound melodramatic, but I feel like time is running out, and that if I don't tell you about this now, I may not get another chance."

" _Nous vous écoutons, Consul_ ," Selene encouraged him in her mesmerizing voice.

"Today..." Alec began, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and coax them back into cohesion, "...dismantling the Cold Treaty was only the first step in a much larger plan for the future. Bringing the Fey back under the Accords... it's something I've worked toward for the better part of twenty years, but my true goal was always much grander."

He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck and under his arms, and he found himself wishing he had a glass of water at hand. Here he was with the opportunity he had always dreamed of having and he was a nervous wreck.

"It's no secret that the Nephilim ranks are more depleted than they have been in over eight hundred years. We were already in decline before Valentine Morgenstern started the Mortal War and kicked off the events that would allow for his son to continue the decimation of our kind in the Dark War that followed, pitting Endarkened against Nephilim. Even with the Mortal Cup returned to the Clave and the reinstatement of Ascensions from among the Mundanes, we were never able to rebuild our numbers sufficiently. We are still tallying the dead and missing from the fires that consumed Alicante, and the enclaves of the world are continuing to forward the names of their surviving members following the massive demon onslaught unleashed by Asmodeus, but the reports are... not positive." He held back the true scope of the numbers he had seen, the reason he had come to look so haggard in recent days.

"We cannot continue that way we have been, and nor should we. If the world's wards have truly been healed, if the damage caused by the Incursion has been undone, then we find ourselves at a crossroads for our race. How can we, in good conscience, continue to risk the lives of Mundanes who choose to brave the Mortal Cup just to inflate our ranks? How can we, in good faith, demand that every Clave-blooded child be trained in the arts of war, and damn them as criminals if they refuse to fight?"

"Alec..." Jace breathed. "Are you trying to say that you want to... _disband_... the Shadowhunters?" He gaped in horror.

"No, " his parabatai answered firmly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I want to expand the Shadowhunter ranks... to include our Downworlder brothers and sisters."

Six pairs of disbelieving eyes stared back at him, and he felt his heart speed up in response. A flush raced up his neck and down his back.

"No one knows better than I do how much the Downworlders have contributed to our fight against demonkind over the centuries, but we never recognized them for it. Hell," he scowled, "we barely even _thanked_ them for it." _How many have fought and died at our sides?_ Memories of the wars of his youth flooded to the forefront of his mind, of blood-soaked battlefields littered with the bodies of the dead. Funeral pyres had burned for days to mark and honour the passing of the Nephilim dead, but had they ever once paused to think about the werewolves who had lost mates, of the vampires who had lost centuries-old clan members, of the warlocks who would never again meet up with their not-so immortal companions?

"The werewolves are called the Children of the Moon, the vampires are the Children of the Night, the warlocks are known as the Children of Lilith, and the Nephilim... we are sometimes called the Children of Raziel," Alec continued, his breathing racing ahead of his words until he had to force himself to slow down. "But _Shadowhunters_... well, that's just what the world came to know as the arm of the law in the Shadow World, the warriors who stood between good and evil and fought back the darkness." He gulped down air.

"Have warlocks not given us their protection when we could not defend ourselves from magical attacks? Have the great packs not laid down their lives to save us in our hours of need? Have the clans of the world not answered the call when our world was in danger? We are _all_ fighting the same battle."

The strength of his conviction made his hands shake when he lifted them for emphasis. "When we rebuild this city, let us make space for the Downworlders. Let us welcome them into our ranks and accord them every honour that we would for one of Raziel's children. Clary sparked all of this when she created the Alliance rune in the Accords Hall all those years ago, right where it was always meant to _be_ created, and the answer has been staring us in the face ever since then. The only way to stop attacks like the one that destroyed our city is to unite. To make it so that to attack one of us would be to attack all of us."

He felt lightheaded from the relief of finally getting it out, almost giddy. "Just think about it," he marvelled aloud, half to himself and half to his stunned audience, "Patrols of vampires mixed with werewolves and Nephilim, all of them with equally vested interests in justice, not just because they _have_ to, but because they choose to. No more one-sided enforcement – we would all be accountable to each other. No more forcing Nephilim to choose between following the Clave or being Stripped and sent into exile."

"Alec," Isabelle broke in, "you have to slow down-"

"No!" He closed his eyes and rubbed his palms across them impatiently. "You've got to see it. Don't you understand? Being a Shadowhunter... it has to be a _choice_. You've listened to Rafe and Max's stories plenty of times, just the same as me. The Downworlders they've become friends with – a teenage vampire who will be stuck delivering pizza for the rest of his life, a werewolf who wants more than anything to keep living the life she had before she was Turned but who can't trust herself to keep the secret when she Changes. Tell me that there aren't Downworlders out there who would jump at the chance to live somewhere where they could be safe and free from judgement, where they could live their lives openly. Look at my _son_ , Iz. Max... he _grew up_ in this city with a Shadowhunter for a brother. He never had to hide what he was here. And now look at them..." The sting of tears prickled at his eyes. "That's what we have to try for, what we have to give the next generation. This is our chance."

Roran exhaled the breath they had all been holding as they had borne witness to the Consul's impassioned plea. "I've heard of committing political suicide before, Consul, but I don't think it was ever meant to be done quite so literally." He shook his head. "How are you going to get this past the Clave?"

"With some help," Alec said hoarsely, wishing again for some water. _Has it always been so hot in here?_ "I sent invitations to a good number of Downworlders, asking them to come to Alicante to participate in an open forum about this. They ought to be arriving at the representative houses today, and later this evening," he added with a nod to Selene. "Welcome them on behalf of the Council and bring them up to speed on what I've shared with you here – I doubt that their presence in the city will remain secret for long, and I want them to get thinking about what this could mean for them." His head started spinning as he tried to keep everything straight. "The Queen already knows all of this, and she has agreed to stand in for the Seelie when we bring this to Council in two days. I've written the notice for the Clave, and it will be sent out," he checked his watch, "in a little over an hour. Getting everyone here for _this_ meeting was the hard part – now they're already in the city, right where I wanted them."

Seraphine gaped at the gall of the Consul. She blinked once and then felt a tug at the corner of her mouth as she recalled Jace's promise earlier. She twisted to her left and looked up at him in amazement.

"Well, I suppose you were right – I will never forget my first."

The laughter started with Roran, and then Seraphine joined in with Jace and Cinder right behind her. Even Selene struggled to contain her smile.

Alec felt an ache in his chest to see them like this, Downworlder and Nephilim alike, laughing together as one. He felt his own smile steal across his lips and the tension that had been keeping a death-grip on him eased. A tide of relief washed through him like cool water and he sighed as a calming sense of peace settled over him.

He closed his eyes.

The room lurched sickeningly.

"Alec!" Isabelle caught him as he fell forward out of the Consul's seat and nearly crashed into the desk head-first. His weight dragged her down and she sprawled over his chest awkwardly before recovering. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and ripped it open, scattering grey buttons across the dais. Throwing caution to the wind, she seizing the ragged edges of his light-weight body armour and tore the gash in the material open wider with strength borne of terror for her brother.

An ugly, uneven black circle ringed the fresh scar, its five-inch diameter making the wound look like nothing more than a target drawn around a bullseye.

She shook his other shoulder, hard. "Alec!"

He did not answer.

Jace swore as he dropped to his knees and he repeated the would-be assassin's final words. "' _In hoc signo vinces'_ – 'By this sign we will conquer'. It was the motto for The Circle." He exchanged a knowing look with his sister and let out a long, drawn-out hiss as he saw the ring around the wound in a new light. "Poison."

Isabelle's mind raced. Alec may have forbidden her from calling Magnus but there was more than one warlock who was on good terms with the Lightwoods. Her eyes snapped to Seraphine.

"You have to do it for him," she demanded. "Put him under like you did to the bastard who did this. If Alec sent out the call to friendly Downworlders, then I'll bet anything that Catarina is already on her way." She clenched her fist. "And if she isn't, she _will_ be."

"You don't understand," Seraphine warned her. "The spell might not be safe. I didn't think anyone would much care if that lunatic didn't come out of it in good order, but I rather think a _lot_ of people will care if they don't get their Consul back in tip top shape."

Jace gripped Isabelle's hand, breathing shallowly almost as if he, too, had been afflicted by the poison that ran through his parabatai's veins. He swallowed thickly.

"What could it do to him?"

The tiny warlock shrugged helplessly. "It affects everyone differently. Sometimes they go stark-raving mad, a few go blank-eyed and slack-jawed, others never wake at all – trapped asleep like Snow White even when the spell is unravelled. And to be quite frank with you, I doubt it's been used against Nephilim very often, if at all, for obvious reasons. You'd have to ask the Library if they have any reports, but I don't know that you have that kind of time."

Isabelle's face went icy calm, the scary kind of calm that lifted goosebumps along Jace's forearm.

"Do it." She ordered. "Catarina will come. We just have to keep the poison from spreading until then."

Seraphine looked down at the stricken Consul and nodded sadly, invoking the dangerous stasis spell once again with a heavy heart.

"And pray that there's a cure."

The hidden, subterranean corridors along the fringes of the Unseelie Court glowed brightly with the blue-white lights that shone from the walls at regular intervals. Where it had previously been only dimly lit in the immediate aftermath of the King's strike against Alicante, colour was again returning to the dark Court and its inhabitants.

Behind a cleverly crafted door of striated granite, a handful of Fey waited impatiently around a roaring fire that was easily large enough to accommodate a pyre, if the occasion called for it. Standing closest to the fire and staring deep into the flickering flames that burned without wood, Prince Adaon ran his thumb thoughtfully along the intricate silver handle of the dagger sheathed at his side. The entwined serpents had once been living creatures until they had been captured and transmuted by an Unseelie craftsman, their bodies tapering down together seamlessly until it was impossible to tell where the blade had been attached. Emeralds had replaced their eyes, and their gaping mouths remained forever frozen open in a snarl that revealed their once deadly fangs.

He traced the outline of their scales and dwelt on the unwelcome news he had received earlier that day. The new Queen of the Seelie Court had brokered some sort of deal with the Nephilim, a deal that meant they would once more be permitted to openly arm their warriors and walk the world above without fear of reprisal from the Shadowhunters. He did not understand how she had done it, but there was no mistaking the reports he had received from his allies within the Rift; for the Seelie, the Cold Peace was at an end.

 _And nowhere did anyone make any mention of the Unseelie being freed from the chains of that hated Treaty as well,_ he seethed inwardly. The ancient rivals of the Unseelie were banding together at long last, and if his people did not act quickly, they would be left at a serious disadvantage on a very uneven playing field when the dust settled. Now, more than ever, they needed a strong leader to steer them clear of the dangerous chain of betrayals and backstabbing that had led to a failed coup and what appeared to have been a mysterious assassination. No one had been able to locate his father's body, but there was no denying that the crown had fallen into enemy hands.

One of the female courtiers sighed irritably and tossed her long silver hair in annoyance. "Their return is long overdue, my prince." The firelight glittered along her fair skin and lent itself to a healthy glow in her cheeks that she had not seen in weeks. None of them had, not until recently, and it was then that they had received their summons from Adaon.

"Have you some place else to be, Elesandra?" The Unseelie prince asked absently in a soothing voice that held no hint of malice or challenge, his black eyes still riveted on the fire before him.

She checked herself and lowered her gaze, though he could not see the sign of deference. "No, my prince. It is merely a concern that we may be losing position and advantage by delaying overlong."

Adaon closed his eyes for a moment and drew upon his deep reserves of patience before turning to face the courtiers he had gathered to his side when he had sensed the shifting balance in the earth magic that ran not only through his veins, but through the world at large. He squared his shoulders and smoothed the long, elegant jacket of the deepest blue down his chest. His knee-high black boots had been polished to a brilliant shine in anticipation of the meeting, and he did his best to comport himself in a manner that would have pleased his father.

"Is it still your wish that we should have sought out this pretender-king ourselves? Hunted him down and tested our strength against his before he knew we were coming?"

One of the other males nodded. His dark green coat was richly embroidered in the high fashion suitable to his House. "We are many, my prince, and our power returns swiftly. He is, by all accounts, alone."

A flare of light at the door signalled the arrival they had all been waiting for, and the granite slab swung open a moment later. A small female dressed in the close-fitting leathers of the scouting corps slipped through the entry and knelt before the Unseelie heir. Her jaw-length black hair ended in blazing orange tips that caught the firelight.

"Rhyloth failed, my prince. The false king..." She paused, uncertain of how to explain what she had witnessed from the safety of her shadow form in the darkness.

"Tell me, Loralei," Adaon prompted her.

She searched for the words, her eyes flicking from side to side nervously. "I do not understand how he could have sensed Rhyloth's approach – even _I_ could not detect him, and I knew what he intended. We found the usurper in one of the old territories, as you said we would, and when Rhyloth drew in for the kill, it was as if the land around him... _died._ The grass, the trees... everything... it all turned to ash, and he collapsed, his glamour undone by whatever it was that the pretender did to the land when he perceived the threat to himself."

The Unseelie prince felt as if a cold stone had dropped into his stomach. He had sent his father's personal assassin and the finest Shadowsinger the Court still possessed after recent betrayals to take the measure of this new threat. "And then?"

She licked her lips and stared hard at the polished black boots before her to avoid meeting her prince's eyes. "He reached down and seized Rhyloth by the throat, lifting him as if he were no more than a child. He drew him close and whispered something I could not hear, and then..." She shook her head. "It was as if the pretender... _drained_... Rhyloth's life from his body until nothing remained. If once his touch brought healing, it brings only death now."

Quiet gasps of dismay rippled through the gathered courtiers, but Adaon silenced them with a single lifted finger. "And my father's crown? Does the pretender truly wear it?"

"Yes, my prince."

Adaon gave a tiny shake of his head. "So long as he holds the Unseelie crown, however he came to possess it, he cannot be underestimated. I do not yet understand how a seemingly broken Seelie exiled to the Hunt could have possibly overpowered my father, or from whence comes his strange connection to the land, but we cannot deny that Baelerithon now, impossibly, wields the Unseelie crown. He grows more powerful by the day."

"As do we," the male in the green coat boasted confidently. "We will soon be able to challenge him as our numbers grow, too."

"No, you won't," a flat voice intoned from the shadows in the corner near the door.

Hands flew to weapons and magic flared at the fingertips of others as all the Unseelie gentry whirled as one to confront the unseen intruder.

"Don't bother," the voice continued coolly. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it while you were busy scratching your asses earlier." A female materialized from out of the shadows, dropping her shadow form to reveal herself fully. Electric-blue hair fell in straight sheets around a pale face that stood out starkly against red-streaked, black leather armour.

"Taerynia!" The other scout swore when she recognized the traitorous Shadowsinger. "I swear that I will tear your throat out with my own hands for the dishonour you have done to our sisters!"

"I doubt it," the Unseelie betrayer shot back sarcastically.

Loralei slipped a dagger from a sheath strapped to her thigh. "And why is that?"

Taerynia pointed at the prince in response. "Because _he_ won't let you. He's going to want to hear what I have to say, and he's always been the soft one when it comes to the King's sons."

Adaon touched the scout's shoulder to bid her to stand down, and Taerynia smirked. "Down girl," she hissed tauntingly under her breath.

The Unseelie heir lifted a cautioning hand. "If you think to find me lenient toward a twice-damned traitor, Shadowsinger, you may find yourself greatly overestimating your position. You deserted my father's service and then failed as Malchezed's lieutenant – tell me why I would ever consider giving you a third chance to turn your coat?"

She crossed her arms and leaned casually against the stone wall beside the door. "Because you don't understand how Baelerithon is using the Unseelie crown, and I do. I was there, I saw what they did. I'll tell you everything in exchange for a full pardon and a fresh start. _Far_ away from here."

"' _They'_?" Adaon queried sharply. He caught the slight tick along the traitor's jaw as she realized she had given away more than she had intended before securing her terms. The shrewd prince nodded once to himself. "So he had help. Who dared?"

Taerynia stubbornly clammed up, refusing to speak until her safety was guaranteed, but the name had already flashed through her mind. The prince looked sideways at the green-coated male and cocked his head slightly. "Kaellan?"

The Unseelie courtier grinned viciously, his gift already lifting the information they required from the Shadowsinger's mind. "Iarlath, my prince." He nodded in satisfaction. "And she knows where he's hiding."

Blue-white light sparked in Elesandra's hands as she used her own recently-recovered gift to paralyze the betrayer in the blink of an eye, cutting off all hope the scout had of fleeing in her shadow form. Panic flooded through the Shadowsinger, and Adaon drew level with her to look into her eyes.

"Perhaps I _am_ the soft one," he speculated in his quiet voice, lifting his left hand to cradle her chin consideringly and gave her his most dazzling smile. "However... my friends are anything but. Shall we see what other secrets you may be hiding, Taerynia?"

 _**Author's note: I feel like I'm in a terrible marriage with my readers right now, where I keep promising you things are going to change, and they don't. Accordingly, I will once again promise to renew my efforts here._

 _I feel like I owe you at least a short explanation of what's been going on to put me so far out of the game over the last few months. The tl;dr version is that I was getting physio treatments for an injury caused during the surgery I had at the end of Exile last year. I got cut off at the end of June and spent the summer completely regressing to where I was back in February before finally getting my "unlimited" physio coverage temporarily reinstated (it's been cancelled again, but I'm working on it). The injury left me with fairly debilitating neck pain that renders me quite useless, and it's been everything I could do just to keep working full-time at my main hospital and somehow keep taking shifts at my old hospital, too. When paired with completely untreated hypothyroidism in the wake of my surgery, I'm pretty much just a giant bag of exhaustion all the time._

 _Things might be improving, and I'm trying to get my endurance back up to be able to stay alert and useful outside of work hours so that I can continue writing. I feel like my whole life has been on hold for the last four months, and I really want it back! The horrible truth is that I had this entire chapter completed by hand in my notebooks back in early October, along with 60% of chapter 16. It's just the struggle to be able to work at my computer and get it down for real._

 _I know it's been slow, but it is happening. I swear. _

_Many thanks for your patience, and especially to Parabatai1046 for single-handedly keeping me alive and putting up with my zombie ass through all this._


	16. Chapter 16

_**16**_

Cassius shrugged back into the leather harness-style armour too soon for his liking, his reconciliation with Zeke cut short by the return of Clarissa Herondale and lovely Sera from the Adamant Citadel. By the tone of the voices rising from downstairs, it sounded as though they had somehow managed to convince the Iron Sisters to part with their precious gift of pure angel blood. All that remained now was the corruptisia blooms...

 _...and one thing more_ , he lamented silently as he twisted to refasten the straps and buckles that had only recently been undone. Zeke had retreated from him to lean back sullenly against the wide desk that dominated the east side of the room. Shafts of sunlight peeked through breaks in the heavy burgundy velvet curtains partially drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, the light illuminating one side of his face while leaving the other in shadow.

"You're not going to listen to me now any more than you were before, are you?" Zeke grumped sourly.

The Faerie crossed the distance between them and pressed a gentle kiss to stubbornly unresponsive lips. "No," he whispered, half an apology and half a command. "No Nephilim can withstand the perils of Deep Faerie. The land can twist reality until it is impossible to tell truth from fantasy, while the mind reels and shatters in horror from what may be revealed. The madness it causes leaves permanent damage, and I would not lose you so." He trailed the fingers of his right hand along Zeke's jawline wistfully.

The ex-Shadowhunter caught his mate's hand and pulled it down until it rested against his collarbone instead. "Then tell me why it's so much safer for you to go. Tell me that I should just sit here and not worry about a goddamn thing." He paused to wait for an answer, but Cassius remained silent. Zeke swore in low voice. "You can't, because you can't tell a goddamn lie, you Faerie bastard."

Cassius closed his eyes, filled with remorse for the anguish he was causing. He took a deep breath and hardened his voice. "But I am _not_ a bastard. I am a scion of the seven Archangels of Heaven, the last living son of-"

"Yeah, yeah," Zeke interrupted irritably, "The son of the Angel of Solitude and Tears, Cassiel's kid, blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. I _know_ who you are, Cass. I know what you can do." He jabbed a finger at the Faerie's chest. "And I know what you _can't_ do. You won't even be able to teleport once you're that deep in the Faerie realm. I doubt you'll even be able to get yourself all the way in. That means you're going to be on foot for at least part of the way, and that means you're going to be in danger."

Guilt continued to flood through Cassius, but he steeled himself against it and turned away to find the familiar gloves he wore to safely handle the _torahk-na_ looped at his hips. "I am aware of the risks, Ezekiel," he answered more sharply than he intended. "I have walked the lands of Deep Faerie before. I will avoid what dangers I may and engage only as a last resort."

Zeke buried his face in his palms and rubbed at his eyes in frustration. "Just go," he growled bitterly. "I can't stop you anyway, can I?"

Cassius bowed his head to hide the pain in his eyes. He knew that their final farewell would come all too soon, and still he was not yet ready to face it. "No," he whispered again, almost too quietly to be heard.

The Faerie folded his remaining wing around his body and vanished, the faded majesty of Morgenstern manor replaced an instant later by the endless rolling fields of red and purple grass that marked the edge of the realm of Faerie. As before when he had come with the body of the Unseelie King, he could penetrate no further into Deep Faerie with his power. Navigating the Courts and the Rift with his gift was only possible because those places were tethered to the Mortal realm by necessity; pathways existed between the two and served as anchors that dulled the twisting and turning of the Faerie lands. The warping could be felt further out from the centre of Courts, particularly along the seams where the two incongruous worlds were joined and the protection was weaker. Mortals often manifested headaches when they passed through those areas - the first sign that the nature of the Faerie realm was seeping through to tug at the edges of their minds.

Mountains reared up from the gentle hills of grass in the distance, their bone-white, craggy faces slicing up into the soft orange sky. It was neither day nor night in the Faerie realm. The light was reminiscent of a sort of perpetual dawn with no sun. Red, orange, and yellow streaked through the wisps of clouds to his right while the colours faded into the twilight hues of purple and blue to his left. From experience, he knew that he could chase the horizon in either direction until he gave in to exhaustion and still never catch the source of the light or the darkness. The land seemed endless at times, but he knew well enough where to find the shrouded valleys in which the corruptisia plants bloomed and spread their insidious madness to the rest of the Faerie realm on tainted winds.

He turned toward the looming mountains and broke into an easy, loping jog that covered ground quickly and efficiently, his decision already made to take advantage of the easier terrain while he still had the opportunity. There was very little to worry about on the open plains around him – many of the creatures of Deep Faerie preferred to dwell deeper in the realm where they would not be disturbed by the comings and goings of their Seelie and Unseelie cousins. The Fey of this realm were not like those who walked the Mortal plane and traced their lineage back to the angels and demons who had fought to claim the world eons before. Here, there had been fewer boundaries to hold back the worst of the demons, and they had left a very different sort of children behind. Trapped in what would become the Faerie realm with too much demon blood in their veins, the darkest Fey were barred access to the Mortal world. Here, the creatures of legend lived on outside the pages of storybooks. Chimeras, gorgons, furies, and many other monsters made their homes here, only just capable of brushing the Mortal world through the dreams of Men to bring colour to their nightmares and breathe life into the terrors of their stories. Mankind could barely grasp how fortunate they were to never meet those monsters face to face.

 _But not all monsters are imprisoned behind these borders, even when they ought to be,_ Cassius thought to himself with a grim set to his mouth. His bargain with Jiahao weighed heavily on his mind, but it was the loophole he had left in place that served as the source of his recent sorrow, a tiny detail that rendered the deal little more than a clever farce to gain possession of the recipe the exiled Seelie had devised.

 _You might not care for the price,_ Jiahao had teased as he had allowed Cassius to skim the lines of looping scrawl upon which all their hopes now rested.

Following the assortment of common ingredients had been the rarer components that he had shared with the Nephilim upon his return: pure angel blood and a corruptisia bloom. But he had concealed the third and most disturbing requirement by tearing the page in two to carefully omit the last line before the brewing instructions prior to returning to the manor. Another tear had removed the final directions for administration.

 _Is it truly necessary?_ Cassius had asked.

And it was.

Jiahao's explanation had been quick and concise.

A willing sacrifice of life - the vessel through which the concoction would be consumed by the Eternal Forest. To even think that it would be possible for barely an ounce of potion to be able to affect the Forest externally was foolish beyond reason. For the mixture to have any effect, it would need to work from within; the Forest baited into swallowing the very poison that would kill its malignant parasite. Once the life force of its final victim was absorbed, there could be no reversing the damage. The power of pure angel blood was the only thing strong enough to combat the dark stain of taint that stemmed from Lucifer's essence. The corruptisia blooms would bind the elixir to the evil consciousness that had taken root within the Forest, their polluted essence sufficiently potent to penetrate the demonic influence and allow the blood to smother it for good. Only a life given willingly was pure enough to serve as the catalyst between the two extremes of the volatile brew; if it were imbibed by anyone with less than the truest intent in their heart, the entire thing would be rendered useless.

In that moment, Cassius had made the decision to sacrifice himself. He could not bargain for the recipe and expect another to give their life. But he _could_ accept the solution _and_ the consequences that came with it.

The long shadow of the centuries that fell away behind him hid a great number of terrible things that he could not undo, and he had lived many more lifetimes than a Mortal would care to count. In a way, it seemed only right that this would be how his immortal life came to a close. It would be on his own terms, and for something greater than himself. He had seen and done so much that he had just one regret in his heart.

 _Ezekiel, my Zeke._

He felt a tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with the incline of the hills that he had begun to climb as the land sloped upward into the mountains. Stripped trees began to dot the landscape around him, their thin trunks worn smooth in places by the passing Ûngreln herds that grazed along this area.

Leaving Zeke was an impossibility for which he had not planned. He had long-since reconciled himself to the bleak expectation that the ex-Shadowhunter would one day pass from this world, and all that Cassius would have to remember him by would be the scores of journals and sketchbooks he had carefully created over the years. The Queen's gift to Zeke kept him whole and healthy, but no spell could completely stop the steady march of time for a mortal. So long as her magic held, he would retain his youthful appearance and strength right up until the moment he died from old age, if he did not perish in battle first. His choice to remain in the Courts had helped to slow his aging, but it still continued unseen beneath the veneer of the Queen's enchantment. It was something they had long ago agreed never to discuss once they had unravelled the truth of Sammaradriel's weaving. _Come what may_ , they had vowed.

Just as they did not touch on Zeke's inevitable mortality, they never spoke of Cassius' _im_ mortality. Like so many other immortals, he had rarely been given cause to consider his own death, or chance to worry about preparing for it. Sammaradriel herself had fallen into that trap when tensions in her Court had forced her to make decisions that would secure her line of succession, and had ultimately had the unexpected consequence of hastening the very death she feared at the hands of a son too eager for throne.

But now that he could at long last see the final days of his very long life, Cassius found himself at a loss for what to feel. It all seemed so very alien to him, like something out of a dream that would surely vanish if only he could awaken himself. His decision to ferry what he could of his private collection to Morgenstern Manor for safekeeping had been one of the few things that had made sense to him. What he had once intended to treasure when Zeke had passed from this life, he would now leave for his mate as a comfort for when he himself was gone instead.

 _Better that this should happen now,_ Cassius tried to convince himself as he wound his way upward into the gap between two high, white cliff faces. Skeletal trees that had shed their foliage in ages past now pointed gnarled limbs down into the throat of the pass like crooked signposts to mark his way. Overhead, the sky remained unchanged, its orange light never wavering despite his progress.

 _Now he will not be alone when I am gone._ For the better part of two decades, Zeke had found himself in an unusual family, cloistered away at the edge of the Seelie court with Rayce, Arynessa, and occasionally, Baelerithon. Although Rayce had long since ceased to require any more training or care from his tutor, Zeke had chosen to stay with the boy while the child remained tethered to the Court by his mother's cruel leash. Quite unintentionally, Zeke had become the father the boy had never known, and in turn, Rayce had been the son that Zeke had never had. Despite the closeness of their bond, though, the ex-Shadowhunter had continued to conceal his relationship with Cassius, too fearful of judgement for his chosen mate, and he had refused to take up permanent residence in the Rift when pressed.

Now, all of the secrecy had been dispelled, and both men were free to live their lives in the Mortal realm. Zeke would find happiness with his new family as Rayce and Sera welcomed their children into the world. A Consul with no hate in his heart now ruled the City of Glass, and bore Zeke no ill-will even in light of his checkered past and the sentence of exile handed down by Imogen Herondale all those years ago. At long last, Ezekiel Hightower was home, his life come full circle, and he would be safe without his powerful Seelie benefactor.

Cassius nodded to himself. _They will all be safe._ His would be the final life given in the defense of this world against demonkind. Too well did he know the histories of other realms that had not succeeded in their great battle against the darkness. The story of Edom had been told time and again in recent memory as the Shadowhunters and their allies had been drawn into its wasteland in their battle against Sebastian Morgenstern and his Endarkened. They had had a bracing reminder of the price for failure, and had spread the tale far and wide upon their return until there was hardly a Nephilim alive who did not know of the doomed last stand of the Shadowhunters there.

The air around him grew heavier as he neared the far end of the pass, and he slowed cautiously, skirting sideways to take what shelter he could along the rock walls. His keen eyes darted left and right in search of threats, but all remained quiet around him. He inhaled deeply through his nose and was greeted by a fetid reek that smelled of damp leaves rotting in a pool of their own decay. The mouth of the valley yawned open a few hundred meters ahead.

Deep-seated instincts rumbled a warning in his chest, and he dared to glance up at the craggy outcroppings above.

Withered, dried-out husks of unrecognizable plants poked out from niches above, poorly-woven as if by mad birds, their brittle chaff supported by twigs and branches torn from the barren trees that lined the entrance to the pass on either side. Bits of feather and fluff fluttered gently around the edges, stirred by the light breeze that exhaled with every sigh of the land. Dark stains ran down the cliff faces below the ledges as macabre heraldry.

 _Nests._

No sound reached his ears, and he took care with every step he laid, each one softer than a cat's paw. As Zeke had warned him, he was completely unable to use his gift this deep in the twisting realm of Deep Faerie, and he had no desire to test his _torahk-na_ against the creatures who had made those nests.

He only dared to breathe freely again once he was clear of the pass and striding more quickly down into the dense thicket of vegetation that had consumed the valley. He glanced back frequently, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement up along the cliffs, but the land remained dead between the white walls in stark contrast with the great, thorn-covered shoots that emerged from the harsh soil and curled in on themselves before plunging back into the earth in places. Each one was at least ten feet across, with some swelling to nearly twice that. Thorns of a deep shade of red erupted along the twisted coils, each one wickedly tipped with blackened barbs. A tangled network of smaller creepers and trailers arced overhead between the archways created by the unnatural plants, closing away the sky as he descended further into the valley with each step. Smaller, thinner versions of the thorny roots grew all throughout the increasingly thick underbrush, their spiky leaves mottled by a creeping black and green spotting that seemed to choke away their native red colouring.

As if to toy with him, the light of the land dimmed above, fading quickly to a murky periwinkle over the vale. Shadows fell around him, and the air became noticeably cooler as a false night approached. Any other Seelie caught so far from home in this wicked place may have felt fear, felt the subtle warning to turn back, but Cassius only allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. The throats of corruptisia blooms were a luminescent orange once they opened, and they would only become easier to find in the coming darkness.

He slipped through the thicket like a shadow, grinning to himself, much as he had in Brocelind Forest when he had led Jace Herondale on a merry hunt just...

... _days ago?_

Doubt wormed its way into his mind, tinged with worry. There was no way of telling which way time would turn this deep in the Faerie realm. It was just as likely that he would emerge ten years too late as it was that he could return ten minutes after his departure. For all his strength, even he could not bend the land to his will. With the wrong twist of fate, Baelerithon could win. A flash of foreboding rippled through him. An image of Idris took shape in his mind, its verdant landscape drained of life until all that remained was ash, the world systematically siphoned by a creature that should have remained forever barred from its lands by the wards set in place ages ago.

He shook his head distractedly and pushed away the thought dismissively through a light fog that had crept insidiously into his consciousness.

Cassius froze.

He counted his shallow breaths as he forcefully expelled the lingering corruption from his mind and drew his mental shields in tighter.

 _I should have thought to do so sooner,_ he berated himself silently. How long had he been quietly falling under the influence of the subversive flora of the valley? Not even the Greater Fey were immune to the effects of Deep Faerie. This place had a way of pulling one's thoughts this way and that until they lost sight of their goal and found themselves wandering aimlessly, easy prey for the darker creatures that made their homes here.

No sooner did he have the thought than he heard a rustle low in the brush to his right.

His hands drifted down to the handles of the _torahk-na_ looped at his hips. He remained absolutely still, his eyes straining to pull in more of the fading light to see what manner of creature had crossed his path.

The dim outline of one chitinous claw peeked out from under a clump of broad, flat fronds at about the height of his thigh, nearly twenty feet away. With growing dread, Cassius took in the tangled, enclosed nature of his surroundings and came to accept that his favoured weapons would not fare well in close quarters.

He heard the tell-tale clicking of eager mandibles just as two clusters of three glowing red eyes each blinked open through a gap in the leaves.

 _Ravagers._

The insect-like monsters dwelled in the low-lands of Deep Faerie, and he had not been careful enough on his approach to detect their presence, lost in dark thoughts no doubt fanned to life by the nearby corruptsia.

A old memory flickered in the back of his mind with a hint of unease.

 _They hunt in..._

Stabbing pain lanced through his left calf, drawing a yell of pain and shattering the silence of the vale.

 _...packs._

Cassius snapped the silvery length of one of the _torahk-na_ in a tightly controlled lash before he even had a chance to turn around to spy the monster that had crept up behind him while he had been paying mind to the one before him. Ear-splitting screeches followed the swipe as he parted the ravager's head from its body in one quick motion.

Answering shrieks mewled from the darkness and the greenery around him rocked angrily in response as more of the beasts rushed forward to attack the intruder in their midst. The Faerie crouched low and pivoted on his right heel, searching for an opening that would allow him to flee. He was swift; he knew he could outrun-

He stumbled as he unthinkingly placed weight on his injured left leg and sent a new wave of teeth-gritting agony through his body. His breath hissed in response as he quickly shifted his balance back to his right side just in time to meet the first of the ravagers that barrelled into him.

Snarling wordlessly, he slashed out long and low with one of the serrated edges of the _torahk-na_ , skimming just above the ground and carving through hardened chitin in a powerful stroke that cut the legs out from under three of the monsters on his right side before they could reach him. His left hand flicked in a seemingly delicate arc that left devastation in its wake for two more of his attackers. Each movement was made small out of necessity for the tight confines of the thicket.

Screams ripped from the gaping jaws of the pack as papery wings rose from deep red carapaces banded in black markings, their dry membranes vibrating with rage as they lifted. The noise was ungodly, and it was all Cassius could do not to drop his weapons and cover his sensitive ears.

He twisted dangerously to his right as a ravager charged in behind the leading edge of one of his attacks too late for him to reverse its momentum, so he hunched in on himself while flaring his remaining wing wide to keep it out of reach as a claw tore down his left shoulder in a furrow of searing pain. As quick as thought, his right-hand _torahk-na_ sliced around low and fast to peel the monster off in an upward cut fueled by anger.

His entire arm jerked awkwardly and he nearly lost his grip on the handle as it stopped abruptly, unintentionally smashing the grip up into the spittle-flecked maw of the ravager before it could sink its teeth into his wounded shoulder. Something very close to panic shot through his chest as he flicked his eyes to the right and saw that the razor-sharp edge of his weapon had bitten deep into one of the huge, thorny shoots that coiled up out of the ground.

Cassius dropped the handle immediately and slammed his right hand into the creature's skull, desperately pushing back against its strength as it struggled to reach his vulnerable neck with its teeth again. With a scream of fury, the Faerie jammed his thumb down into the cluster of glowing eyes and pushed in sickeningly.

The ravager went berserk, its clawed limbs flailing wildly as it piercingly shrieked its agony. Black blood poured down Cassius' hand and coated his wrist and forearm as he savagely tore into the other eyes with his fingers and ripped away part of the monster's face.

Only instinct saved him when the body dropped, and he swivelled on his back foot to duck even as he cracked out with his left-hand _torahk-na_ from low to high. Venom dripped from the jaws that snapped shut just inches overhead, and then the two halves of the ravager landed on either side of him, showering him with hot, sticky blood. He dashed his forearm across his eyes to clear his vision and switched the _torahk-na_ to his right hand.

The high-pitched keening that tore from the ravagers shrilled down his spine and burrowed into his brain to shred his mental defenses. The surviving three monsters quivered at the edge of his reach, their wings fully-extended menacingly as they teetered forward and back, no longer certain they wanted to continue the fight. They shrieked and spit their hate for him.

He cradled his left arm close to his body, but squared with them, his own wing lifting behind him to add to his size. He brandished his remaining _torahk-na,_ twisting the handle cruelly to illustrate his intent for them if they wished to press the suit. Blood streamed down his left side from both shoulder and calf, but he allowed no weakness to show in his stance.

The lead ravager hissed and slavered at the scent of so much blood in the air, and Cassius read its decision in its six red eyes a moment before it launched itself at him with the help of its wings. The other two hung back just a moment longer, waiting for him to engage before initiating their own strike. It was lose-lose.

The _torahk-na_ hummed through the air in front of Cassius in a corkscrewing whirl of deadly steel to intercept the ravager screeching toward him with outstretched claws. The other two creatures scrabbled after the other, each one flanking the wounded Faerie to box him in.

Killing edges sheared off first the right and then the left wing of the ravager in flight as the length of the weapon spiralled tightly around the beast, and then Cassius snapped his arm down and back. The _torahk-na_ looped around the ravager's thorax and severed it cleanly from the rest of its carcass. The fine mist of blood had not even reached him when the final two ravagers struck from each side.

Already favouring his left side, Cassius spun to protect it from further damage, and the monster leapt instead onto his back. The other creature bowled into his legs and sent all three combatants tumbling down into the blood-slicked grass around the Faerie. The remaining _torahk-na_ slipped out of his gore-soaked hand, useless now.

A sickening crunch lifted a howl from Cassius' lips as he crushed his own wing between his back and the ravager that still clung to him when they landed. He kicked furiously at the other even as its claws shredded his thigh. It was too dangerous to even think about trying to reach for the short dirk in his boot while those gnashing teeth snapped so wildly.

Mandibles clicked in his right ear and he used the sound as locating, his powerful hands reaching up over his shoulder to grasp the creature's jaw and pull... _pull..._

The maddening screeches rose to panicked chittering as the pressure built. Cassius struck out with his knee blindly and connected with the other ravager, buying himself the moment he needed to finish the first.

With a brutal wrench, he tore out the ravager's jawbone and gagged as its blood spurted over his face and into his gasping mouth.

The last monster disentangled itself from Cassius' legs and punishing kicks, rearing up on its back legs in fury before slamming back down over him, its talons driving into his chest to pin him for the kill.

Hard, black-leather armour held firm under the strike, the harness saving his life from what would have been a fatal blow.

Putrid yellow underbelly loomed over him, and Cassius stiffened his fingers under the links of the gloves he wore to handle the _torahk-na._ He struck up into the soft spot just below the mesosternum, punching through the thinnest part of the ravager's carapace easily, the shell breaking like spun glass. A gush of ichor splashed out as he closed his fist around something soft and hot and tore downward with the last of his strength.

The body spasmed manically and dropped heavily across his torso to ooze steaming blood and entrails down his abdomen. He rolled onto his right side with a low groan that was a mixture of pain and disgust. He shoved at the carcass and wiggled out from under it gingerly, careful to avoid the slashes ripped along his thighs and shoulder.

He levered himself up into a sitting position and exhaled, shaken by the encounter. The shrill calls of the dead ravagers echoed in his ears like an annoying buzz that refused to be dispelled as he worked the dirk free from his right boot top and set to work slicing strips from the bottoms of his favoured leather pants to bind his wounds. He did as much as he could, but when it came to the sharp pain in the radius of his wing, there was nothing for it. When he tried to fold it tight against his body to lash it in place, the bone screamed in protest and he was forced to leave it as it was. He rose unsteadily to his feet and tested its weight. It was all he could do to keep the tip from dragging in the grass.

Clenching his teeth, he tried a few steps and let his breath hiss quietly through his lips. He would not win any footraces any time soon. He shuffled to retrieve his fallen _torahk-na_ and looped them at his hips once more. Wary of leaving the dirk out of easy reach if he were to become entangled once more, he slipped the sheath behind the low-slung waistband of his pants so that he could feel it pressing into the small of his back.

A dull, throbbing pulse started to build in the Faerie's head from the echoing remnants the ravager cries, and he rubbed at his temples wearily. His fingers left smears in the thin mask of blood across his face.

With greater care than before, and a new limp that compromised his ability to move quietly, Cassius crept forward through the tangled thicket that protected the valley below, eager to leave the scent of blood and violence behind. It would only be a matter of time before more creatures were drawn to the fresh carrion, and he needed to be long gone before they came.

The sky continued to darken overhead and true night began to fall, as deep as that of any new moon in the Mortal realm. Worry edged his thoughts, and he no longer cared to push it away. For the first time in a long time, he was afraid. Shadows ran parallel to him in the underbrush, but he could not seem to get a lock on them, as if they were not there at all. He blinked rapidly to clear the phantasms with only partial success, and more doubt crept into him at his ability to continue fighting the Faerie realm.

While he could measure neither time nor distance in this place, he marked the passing of the land using landmarks, and it was not long before he broke free of the constrictive underbrush and knelt silently on the valley floor to survey the deceptive quiet of the darkness.

Wind that was not wind whispered through the long grass and made the stalks sway soothingly, beckoning him to lay down and rest his tired body, if only for a few moments. The temptation was overwhelming. His injuries ached and burned, and mounting fear gnawed at him that the ravagers may have had venom in their claws. He wondered how long he had left if they did.

 _Zeke._

Cassius brought his mate to mind and struggled to bend the image into a shield to hold back his weariness and keep it from consuming him. He allowed himself to imagine what sort of raging abuse the ex-Shadowhunter would hurl at him if he could see the state the Faerie was in now. The quick explosion of anger followed by gruff coddling mixed with quiet reprimand. He permitted himself a small smile in response.

Glitters of orange twinkled at the far end of the open field like ghostly candles, sparkling in and out of sight as the false breeze played through the drooping leaves that lay hidden by darkness and distance.

He felt his heart speed up in response. _Finally._

The feathery light touch of the grass under his feet was cool, the blades somehow dampened as if by evening dew that surely did not exist in this place. He advanced in a low crouch despite the burning in his leg, the curve of his back level with the tallest stalks, his injured wing draped across his shoulder limply and trailing behind him.

He expected to be attacked with every step, to see eyes rise out of the sea of grass and converge on him, but nothing moved in the shrouded valley save himself.

It was not until he was once more enfolded by the edge of the next thorny thicket that continued its sprawl toward the heart of the valley that he allowed himself to breathe freely again. Under the sheltering coils of the great limbs, he dropped heavily to his knees in front of the first orange bulb he saw.

Deeper veins in shades of amber and russet pulsed in a delicate network around the luminescent, rigid lobes. The flower was longer than his hand, if only half as wide as it tapered to a point. The pure white stalk of a pistil rose delicately above the deeper gold filaments supporting anthers coloured like burnished brass. Strange, that such a beautiful flower could have such an insidious purpose.

A slight tremor ran through his right hand as he reached back to draw the dirk from its sheath, and he could not tell if the quavering stemmed from fear, exhaustion, or relief. A runnel of sweat slid down his upper lip and he tasted the tang of salt.

Instead of the smooth leather he was expecting, his fingers brushed along the soft skin of a hand already wrapped around the hilt. Alarm crashed through him as he twisted around awkwardly and pushed himself away in a panic, his heels digging into the grass. His wing shuddered alongside him, carving a ragged swath of hissing pain in its wake.

Tilted black eyes regarded him bemusedly, their empty depths a promise of everything Cassius had hoped to escape through his duplicity. The meagre light threw sharp shadows across a cruel face. Jiahao's tongue snaked out to taste the blade in his hand, and his generous lips lifted into a smile of pleasure.

"Too long since last I had a taste of you, my love," he drawled languorously.

Disbelief warred with fear in the Cassius' heart. "You... you cannot be here." He closed his eyes and willed the other away, but the Seelie Lord still crouched casually before him, dirk in hand.

"Who else would be strong enough to follow you to this place?" Jiahao sallied back in challenge.

Confusion clouded the one-winged Faerie's mind. It was impossible. "You... why?"

"To protect my investment." A hard edge crept into the other man's voice. "Did you think I would not unravel your gambit? That I would not be wroth with you when I learned that you had no intention of honoring your word?" He _tsk_ ed under his breath. "No, no. I am quite disappointed in you."

"The Queen _will_ lift-"

Jiahao sprang forward and bore Cassius to the ground, pinning him. "The _Queen_ will be dead or worse long before she can ever make good on her mother's bargain," he seethed angrily. "I have seen the monster that wears her brother's face, seen what he has done to the Mortal world, and seen what he still intends to do. His rage burns for her, the half-breed, and that golden-eyed chit. They will vanish into his madness and never be seen again."

In his weakened state, Cassius could not overpower the other, as once he had. With all the grace of a practiced predator, Jiahao used his superior strength to flip his one-time lover face-down, grinding a knee into the small of his back.

"But _you_ ," the sadistic Faerie continued in a snarl, "You will not run from my side nor betray me again. You will not vanish so easily, not after today." Steel glinted in the soft orange light thrown by the corruptisia, and true terror ripped through Cassius when he felt the sickeningly-familiar fingers seize the base of his wing. He bucked wildly, frantic to throw the other off before the blade-

White-hot agony sliced through his flesh followed by the jarring, ragged sawing of the dirk through muscle and sinew as it savagely cut to the bone.

A throat-rending scream tore out of Cassius and his already-bloody fingers ripped fistfuls of earth from the ground. He thrashed and writhed in agony, his hoarse cries overshadowed by the dark laughter of his tormentor.

There had never been anything like this blazing, searing pain in all of his centuries, not even when he had lost his right wing. Back then, it had been a gift given in a haze of intoxication and years of hidden manipulation as Jiahao had treacherously dangled hooks into his mind to reel in the greatest prize of his immortal life. But this...

The final crack as the cartilage broke reverberated through his entire body and he collapsed forward, the familiar weight gone forever. He could not see the exiled Seelie Lord above him, but he felt as the other sat back on his heels and lifted the severed wing reverently.

"I have always wanted the set," he breathed reverently, a beatific smile stretching across his face even as blood dripped from his fingers and Cassius shuddered under his knees.

Shock began to set in, and he felt himself drifting into unconsciousness gratefully. Oblivion would be welcome after this horror. He felt Jiahao's weight shift above him, but he found that he no longer seemed to care. The last scion of the Angel of Solitude and Tears finally felt those tears that were his birthright fall upon his face, and if he had had any strength left, he would have felt a sob wrack his tortured body.

 _I am... broken_.

He did not know for how long he laid in the grass insensate before a piercing cry screeched across the sky from the way he had come, shattering the stillness of the night as surely as his own screams had. The noise irritated him, stirring him from the stupor that had settled in. The call had the sound of a bird of prey, and it was answered by others, as if a cast of falcons had taken wing.

 _Taken... wing..._

He pressed his face into the earth more insistently as if he could drown out the clarion call and caught himself on the edge of wishing for death. He did not recognize what was left of himself, and that startling unfamiliarity jarred him back into a mind left ravaged by the vicissitudes of Deep Faerie.

Silently, without moving, he performed a slow inventory of his body and was further roused by the surprise that registered. Jiahao had visited no further horrors upon him while he had laid helpless. One grey eye slipped open and he turned his head painfully to the left, his neck cramped from the angle at which he had sprawled in the grass. The dark expanse of his wing stretched out down his side, and he instinctively flinched away from the memory of its mutilation.

It moved with him.

A sharp ache spiked along the radius that had been injured in his tussle with the ravager, but nothing more. He pushed himself up, stunned, and reached back to feel where it rose from his back.

Still whole.

His mind struggled to catch up, to understand, even as his eyes scanned the area for Jiahao. Instead, they settled on the innocent-looking corruptisia bloom just a few feet away, its glowing lobes pulsing gently as the wind tickled the bulbs of its anthers.

 _All... in my mind._

Revulsion turned his stomach at the horrific effect the plant could have, and it was with a grim sense of finality that he took hold of the dirk that had never left its sheathe at his back. He crawled forward and pinched the stem below the calyx, cutting the heavy flower free without ceremony.

The same, shrill call sounded from the darkened sky again, closer this time, and brought Cassius fully back to himself as he pieced together the mystery of what it was. His pitched battle with the ravagers had been too close to their nests, too loud, and he had so conveniently given away his location here by falling under the influence of the corruptisia. They knew there was quarry in the field, and all that remained was to run him to ground.

 _Like an animal._

Shadows dashed through the grass all around him and he took a swipe at one with his _torahk-na._ Stalks sheared cleanly in half with hardly a sound.

No cries, no blood.

 _Nothing... there._

He pressed his palms to his eyes and pushed until he saw stars, silently fighting back the urge to scream his frustration away. The hard mesh of the gloves dug in to his skin and the pain grounded him again. He groped at the mush his thoughts had become and held on to the most important.

 _Have to move. Staying means death._

As if to mock him, his injured leg throbbed insistently when he rose to his feet. He kept to the deeper shadows beneath the towering coils of thorny roots, slipping as quietly as he could along the edge in an effort to put some distance between his original track and the path he would need to take to get back out of the valley.

No stars shone overhead, no twinkling lights to betray where the monsters were in the sky. The only comfort his fear-touched mind took was that they would be equally blind to his presence. Stealth was his only ally in this chase.

When he had judged that he had gone far enough, he cut sideways into the long grass once more, crouching even lower than he had the first time. Only an immortal lifetime of discipline gave him the patience to move just inches at a time, conscious of how much more of an advantage his pursuers had from the sky, how easy it would be for them to spot their prey if the land had not sought to play with him by shifting to true night as a deterrent from his purpose.

Despite the blood that ran in his veins, despite all that made him one of the Greater Fey, he was not of this realm, and it was keen to punish him for his intrusion so deep into Faerie where both the Seelie and Unseelie alike were so very unwelcome.

Dawn began to break on the horizon, faster than any sunrise in the Mortal world.

Although schooled to outward silence, Cassius allowed a veritable flood of Zeke's most creative curses to spill through his mind, only to cut them off a moment later when they were drowned out by a wave of anxiety. He was running out of options.

The Faerie picked up his pace, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as his leg protested. Bent as he was, he was forced into an ungainly hobble, his wing dragging in his wake and disturbing even more of the grass. He winced, already knowing that he was far too visible in the growing light, but also knowing that the treeline could not be far now. He lifted his head to check his progress and stumbled in dismay.

The distance had doubled.

Frustration howled through him and he abandoned his commitment to stealth, breaking from his meagre cover to dash across the sea of grass, adrenaline masking the pain.

Renewed shrieks shattered the false morning, and he caught a glimpse of red wings and pale bodies banking in the sky above where he had clipped the corruptisia bloom. The sturdy lobes in his hand still burned with their strange light. He only had until the glow completely faded to get it back to the warlock Magnus Bane before it died and its power was lost. He had to protect it until then.

He was one hundred paces from the edge of the thicket when the first stones cast by crude slings shot past him, and an arrow that looked to have been carved from bone buried itself in the ground an arm's length to his right. He did not dare look back to see how close they were, and put on a fresh burst of agonizing speed while he darted from side to side unpredictably.

He practically flew through a gap in the prickly shoots and ducked under a snarl of creepers that dangled from another. Hardly slowing at all, he lost himself under the canopy and ran for his life. Adrenaline pumped through him and kept the worst of the pain at bay. He knew what the monsters were, and they were still creatures of the sky, unaccustomed to the ground as he had been forced to become.

A sliver of confidence crept into his heart.

A stone punched through the leaves overhead.

Cassius' feet went out from under him as the projectile sent an explosion of pain rocking through his right hip and he skidded forward on his chest along the dry-scraped valley. He could not take back the groan of dismay that escaped his lips and pinged his location to the hunters. They would close on him in seconds. With no other choice, he was forced to jam the corruptisia bloom down the front of his pants and hope that he would find a way out of this.

With a soft whistle, a thin dart fletched with a strange, springy red feathering nipped into his shoulder and he knew no more.

The first thing Cassius became conscious of upon waking was the reek. The sickly-sweet tang of rotting meat and unwashed bodies assailed his nostrils, rousing his bruised mind even as it resisted returning from the darkness once more. He struggled to command his thoughts to obey him, but it was as if his head was filled with cotton. Cautious of where he might be, he peeked through slitted eyes to observe his surroundings without revealing that he was awake.

He was laying on his back on rough stone, his wing carefully draped above him so as not to bear any of his weight. A flutter of fear rippled in his heart when he felt the cold burn of chains around his wrists securing his arms over his head, his ankles shackled similarly. It had been a very long time since he had felt the touch of cold iron upon his flesh. In sharp contrast, his wounds felt cool somehow, itching faintly under what felt like caked-on mud, but they no longer pained him. What was left of his leather half-harness had been stripped away so that he lay bare-chested upon the slab.

The tall, knife-thin cliffs of white rock that formed the pass through which he had entered the valley now rose into the sky overhead, and he felt a sinking feeling when he caught sight of more of the derelict nests lining the narrow ledges.

"You may look freely upon the Yan'tua, Seelie Lord," a woman's voice called mockingly from his left side. A faint rasp tickled the words, lending a throaty feel to the invitation that gave it an uncomfortable shading of flirtation.

Caught in his deception, Cassius turned his head to see who was speaking to him.

A sharp-faced woman reclined imperiously on a throne of crumbling bones with one leg thrown over an armrest. Greasy black hair hung in long, thin braids down to her waist, some of them knotted with bits of leather, cloth, and even what may have been teeth. Twin arches of dull, red-feathered wings stretched behind her, the ends sweeping down to the pale grey stone of the canyon floor. She had a vulpine cast to her dark features, and could perhaps have been considered lovely if it were not for her clawed feet and the talons that curved out from each finger.

The harpy trailed one of her too-long nails down the hilt of one of the _torahk-na_ that were wound around the throne like trophies. "Beautiful weapons... beautiful Faerie..." she murmured appreciatively in a tongue he had not heard in centuries. "...lucky Sarelya."

An angry hiss on his other side signalled the displeasure of one of the other harpies, and Sarelya rose in an instant, her wings flaring wide as she hissed back at the dissenter. Once-fine scarlet cloth wrapped around her thin body and fell in strips down to her knees, shredded at some point. Cords of leather bound the material at her waist and criss-crossed up her torso to keep it in place while she flew. Shiny patches of burn scars adorned each of her shoulders, faded with age. A close-fitting choker of mismatched beads and finger bones encircled her throat, and dented bangles clattered around her wrists.

Out of the corner of his eye, Cassius watched the smaller harpy back down and skulk back a pace from the cracked altar upon which he lay. He also saw the shadows stretch and swarm, but he blinked away the hallucinations and struggled to focus, but it was difficult. His mouth was dry as dust and he wish desperately for a drink of water.

Sarelya turned her attention back to him once more, her snarl erased by a feral smile in an instant. She drew alongside him and brushed away a stray bit of hair that had escaped his braid during his fight against the ravagers.

"Forgive the less-evolved of my tribe," she purred in the same strangely-accented dialect of Faerie speech. "They look at you and see nothing more than their next meal, but I see what you are, smell what you are." She darted in quicker than thought and pressed her lips to his, breathing in deeply in satisfaction. " _Taste_ what you are." She looked down approvingly. "Rarely do the Greater Fey of the Courts come so far into our realm, and your blood sings of your Seelie heritage. Such strength must not be wasted."

Cassius reeled from the kiss and wrenched at the chains binding him, wishing for the strength she charged him with, but it had first been taxed by the flurry of teleportation in and out of the Rift, twice bearing the children and the Queen. His pitched battle with the ravager pack and falling prey to the touch of the insidious corruptisia plant had eroded much of what had remained, and the realm had stolen away the bits that held it all together. He had never felt quite so... _helpless_.

Sarelya laughed in delight and ran a clawed hand lightly down the taunt muscles of his chest as he strained. She waited patiently for him to give up, using the time to instead admire his form, her touch only angering him further. He thrashed fruitlessly and felt the links burn deeper into his flesh. He drew on the pain and tried to use it to clear his head, but it only fragmented him further as panic took hold and despair began to set in. He collapsed back against the stone in defeat and fixed her with a baleful glare.

" _Tribe_ ," he spat in disgust, dredging up the nearly-forgotten words of the Deep Faerie language. "The marks of your _tribe_ were burned from your flesh long ago. You may pretend at being a princess, but I see truly. Your tribe is nothing more than deserters and scavengers."

Sarelya nodded as if she had not just been insulted. From above his head, out of his sight, she produced a worn wooden rod with a length of leather running from either end. She seized his jaw and forced the bit between his teeth roughly, securing it in place while he thrashed his head futilely.

"My brood," she continued, waving to the others on the far side of the altar, "dwindles." A half dozen wild faces watched him, some sullenly, others excitedly, but all drew forward when Sarelya beckoned them closer. A low mewling sound escaped the lips of one as she dared to stroke the curve of his hip bone just above the low-slung waist of his pants.

The harpy leader slapped the hand away and replaced it with her own, her fingers sliding across his abdomen thoughtfully. He glared up at her with murder in his eyes. The anger gave him clarity, and he tried to use it to break free from the fog that lay across his mind.

She raked her talons against his skin almost hard enough to draw blood and bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "It has been some time since last we had any sort of... _breeding stock._ "

An uneven wave of tittering laughter ringed him as the harpies pressed in around the altar, and then reaching hands stretched out to skim along his body from every side. Sarelya boldly slipped her hand lower, unknowingly cupping the firm bulb of the corruptisia bloom instead of her prize. Her eyes widened in surprised excitment as she misread the situation.

Dread flared through Cassius, overpowering his fury at being pawed at like a common whore. It would not be long before the harpies progressed far enough to discover the hidden bloom, and they would no doubt destroy it as a precaution against its lingering potency.

Even knowing it was useless, he pulled at the cold iron chains with what was left of his strength, willing the links to burn deeper in another attempt to shake off the haze and confusion clouding his thoughts. The cold iron seared into him and only leeched his vitality further, weakening him even more.

One of the harpies leaned in and licked up his neck to nip at his earlobe playfully, and he wrenched his head away in disgust. His struggles only seemed to excite them further, and another of the creatures eagerly clamoured up atop the altar to straddle his hips. Her chipped claws scratched shallow lines across his abdomen as she began tearing at the button of his pants. Cassius closed his eyes and would have prayed if the Fey had worshipped any higher powers. Instead, only the patron of his mate's people came to mind, and he whispered the name in his mind.

 _Raziel._

Three things happened in almost the same instant.

A fleeting shadow darkened the backs of Cassius' eyelids, a yowl of pain screeched in his face, and then the weight across his hips vanished.

 _Sarelya disapproves,_ he thought to himself distantly from within the floaty void to which he had consigned his mind to spare himself bearing witness to his own rape.

A heavy crash of bodies hitting the canyon floor would have confirmed his suspicion if not for the enraged hisses, Sarelya's chief among them. A very, _very_ familiar roar of bellowing anger followed it, and Cassius dared to look.

One bloody hand gripping his signature short sword, the other dropping a tangled clump of hair freshly scalped from the harpy who had dared to sit astride his mate, Ezekiel Hightower spat on the stone at his feet and wobbled.

"Which one of you bitches wants to go next?" he slurred, the smell of drink on him evident to Cassius' sensitive nose even from this distance.

From above, an arrow punched through the throat of another of the harpies as the shadow wheeled around again for another pass. Grim-faced Mark Blackthorn reached back for another shaft and sighted his next shot as he effortlessly guided Windspear with only his knees. Nothing of the broken Shadowhunter remained, his own fear and trauma washed away by the adrenaline high of the rescue mission.

The harpies exploded out from their ragged group in fury, two of them unfurling their dirty, unkept wings and lifting off in pursuit of the one-time Hunter. Wind rushed through Mark's white-blond hair as he banked sharply and drew them away from the rest of the tribe. Long years spent fighting from the air with Windspear under him brought memories rushing back, but they brought him no pain this time. The whisper of Kieran's voice in his heart urged him upward with the savage pleasure they had both known together for a hundred hunts before. He let his instincts take over and lost himself in the flow of battle, a true Nephilim in his prime. He raced away, the pair of harpies hard in pursuit.

Just a few feet from the altar, Zeke dropped into a defensive crouch as the remaining three harpies, Sarelya included, drew their bone blades and closed ranks against him. He teetered back on one foot for a moment, his balance not as steady as he might have liked after nearly an entire bottle of tequila, but that was all the opening they needed to spring forward on the attack.

His twin short swords, so similar in length to the seraph blades he had once wielded in his youth, parried the first four slashes from the coterie of harpies. His superior steel bit deep notches in two of the weapons and cut right through the third as he twisted away, but he was less fortunate with the fifth and sixth strikes. Both scored long rents along the gear set he had snuck out of Rayce's room while the boy had tended to his violently-ill wife in the ensuite bathroom. Sera had unknowingly provided all the cover noise he had needed to escape unnoticed. The jacket was too tight across his shoulders, limiting his movement, but he managed to dodge back and pivot away from the next sallies, ducking under one bony arm and slicing back with his off-hand to spill the now unarmed harpy's guts.

They were faster and had the advantage of sobriety, but he was better armed and armoured. Fighting drunk was not as foreign to him as it probably should have been, but Cassius had left him with very little choice in the matter. He was gambling that the alcohol would give his mind a cushion from the effect of deep Faerie, and if all else failed, getting black-out drunk would hopefully scrub his entire memory of ever being in this Angel-forsaken place.

A bone blade came arcing back in toward him to scrape along the tough panel that protected his thigh, and he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. The smaller remaining harpy danced away from his three quick retaliatory thrusts, luring the ex-Shadowhunter further from Sarelya and giving her the time she needed to free the blowgun she had used to bring down Cassius.

As if sensing the danger, Zeke unwisely whipped his head around and a wave of dizziness caused him to lose his footing just in time, the feathered dart puffing past him harmlessly.

"Now that -," he huffed, "wasn't -," he heaved himself back to knees, "very -," he dropped the hilt in his right hand and closed his fingers around the neck of the tequila bottle tucked into his belt, "nice!" He hurled the glass bottle across the distance between himself and Sarelya and felt a deep sense of satisfaction as it connected solidly with her face, temporarily stunning her. "Bloody waste-," he parried a thrust from the other harpy, "of perfectly-," he belched and deflected the riposte that followed, "bad tequila." He buried his blade in her chest after a failed overhead feint and the tore it free, spinning away partially for style points, and partially because he couldn't quite remember which foot was supposed to be holding his balance. _One of them, for sure_. _I've said it once and I'll say it again. Damn good feet. Put up with a lot of sh-_

A second dart whistled past his head as one of those damn good feet failed to support him, and he stumbled to his knees in a fall that seemed to happen all at once. One second he was standing, the next he had an up-close view of the hair on the backs of his fingers as he braced himself heavily on his hands.

Clawed feet swam into his line of sight, filthy and trailing anklets woven with feathers and beads.

 _The fu-_

Understanding clicked, despite the tequila.

He flung up his right arm in a wild arc and was rewarded by a scream of pain, a spray of blood, and the addition of four taloned finger tips to the ground in front of him. A blackened-bone kris bounced harmlessly off the back of his jacket and, inspired, he launched himself forward in a roaring rugby tackle. Zeke bowled into Sarelya's ribs hard enough to hear her brittle flyer's bones snap, and they both plowed backwards in a tangled mess until he crushed her against the side of the altar where Cassius lay in a daze.

The harpy howled in pain at the impact, and the ex-Shadowhunter fell sideways as the abrupt change in momentum disoriented his hopelessly inebriated body again. Silver stars shot across his vision as he landed, and he foolishly shook his head to try to banish them. Everything spun around him and he felt his stomach lurch traitorously. He swallowed the gorge and tried to push himself up again with his empty left hand, the short sword lost somewhere.

"Stop!" The harpy seethed, her breathing shallow as she cradled her mutilated right hand to her breast. Zeke squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and commanded the two harpies standing at the altar to merge and become one again. A semblance of clarity returned and he was able to see that the claws of her left hand were clenched tightly over Cassius' throat. Blood pumped from the stumps of the fingers on her other hand, darkening the already-scarlet dress and staining the bits of cloth braided into her long hair as she wound what was left of her hand into the folds to try to stem the bleeding. "Drop it," she hissed, her eyes intent on his remaining short sword.

Zeke's head felt like someone had stuffed a bass drum full of angry raccoons and abandoned using the pedal in favour of simply kicking it as if it had done them a great, personal injustice. Although he could see Cassius, the harpy bitch, and where her claws were, it was not registering the way it should. He remained as motionless as a man can with that much alcohol in his blood, which is to say, he swayed unevenly.

"Now!" She squeezed lightly and four beads of blood welled up under the tips of her talons to run freely down Cassius neck. To his credit, the Faerie waited impassively, unable to tell if this was any more real than his encounter with Jiahao had been, or if he were still locked in the prison of his mind by the influence of the corruptisia bloom.

The blade clattered to the stone.

"Lie face down," she ordered the ex-Shadowhunter, her teeth gritted in pain. Escape was still an option, and she fully intended to buy her freedom with the Seelie's life if it seemed to mean so much to this insane Mortal. She was a survivor, not a deserter.

Dread filled Zeke. He didn't know if harpies knew how tequila worked, but he was pretty sure that if he laid down right now, he would black out. The only thing keeping him going was the adrenaline of the fight, and that precious juice was draining away with every passing second of the stalemate. So he did the next best thing.

He flashed his most winning smile with however many of the muscles in his face were still obeying his will, and he waved merrily at her.

Sarelya's confused scowl transformed into a surprised gurgle as for a second time that night/day/whatever, an arrow tip ripped through a harpy's throat. Her hand spasmed open in shock and she made a motion as if to try to grasp the killing shaft.

Zeke pointed up and slurred happily, "Betcha forgot about him, didn'tcha?"

Mark guided Windspear back down to the canyon floor with ease, his movements filled with a confidence that had been absent for the better part of two decades. Battling the two harpies who had come in pursuit had woken the part of him that he so desperately wished to have back, and he let himself enjoy what it meant to feel fully alive again. Whatever part of him the Hunt still claimed, it could not take _this_ part away, not entirely. He whispered soothingly to the Faerie steed and rubbed one flank affectionately after he slid down to help his newfound friend find the key to Cassius' chains.

When Zeke had barged into Mark's room and seized him by the scruff of his neck, reeking of drink, the younger man had not resisted, and that had only seemed to enrage the stripped Shadowhunter further.

" _You have to fight back, kid! You're not a goddamned mouse, you're a Shadowhunter. Act like it!"_

Mark had tried to protest, to explain, but the other man had seemed possessed, pulling him down the servant's staircase at the back of the manor and well away from where Cristina was keeping a careful eye on the girls while they played in the orchard. His target had become clear as the roof of the stable became visible.

Inside, Zeke had jammed a finger into Mark's chest.

" _Now you need to make a choice, and I'm gonna tell you the same thing someone I love once told me: You can either keep playing the victim and letting all the bullshit that's happened to you continue to tell you what you can and can't do, or you can tell it all to fuck right off."_ He had taken a long draw on the bottle jammed into his belt, the foul drink inside sloshing below the halfway point. His breath could have caught fire if his eyes had burned any hotter. " _Well, he probably said it prettier, but it's all the same shit, different pile."_

They passed a black horse quietly nibbling at some hay in one of the open stalls and then a familiar white-maned head poked out of the adjacent carrel. Windspear whickered happily in recognition upon seeing Mark, and a tendril of fear crept into his belly, twisting his gut.

Zeke's arm had slammed him into the wall, startling both steeds with its suddenness.

" _No,_ " he had snarled. " _Don't give in to the doubt, the fear. I don't need a goddamned coward right now, I need a Hunter. You're the only one who knows how to get into that place, and you can do it without going batshit crazy._ _The good news is that I'm_ already _batshit crazy, and you're gonna get me to my idiot."_ He had touched his chest, over his heart. _"He's in over his head this time; I know it. So make a choice, boy. Be a mouse or be a hero."_

So he had chosen. Chosen to return to Deep Faerie, chosen to embrace all the memories that riding Windspear brought back, chosen to find a way to say goodbye to Kieran's memory at last. He might never have the chance to find the Hunter who had murdered his one-time lover, but he could at least do this small part in bringing them all down. He was not like the others around the Manor, he knew that. They had all come together to find a way to put an end to all of the newly-Unbound Hunters and Rayce's half-brother, Baelerithon. Mark had only brought his family there to hide. But this... this felt like he was part of the fight, part of something more. He felt the same way he had when he had heeded the Horn's call to the hills outside of Ojala, when he had helped them bring down the dragon demons. This was how he was supposed to feel. Not a creature of the Hunt, but one blessed by the Angel.

Zeke threw a small rock at Mark to snap him out of his reverie. "Are gonna help or not?"

By the time Mark found the key hidden in a skull on the armrest of the throne of bones, Zeke was in bad shape. He retched once, twice, the liquor burning through him like fire. His hands shook as he took the key and struggled to fit it into the lock of the manacles. Cassius' grey eyes fluttered open at his touch, still drifting in and out of lucidity with the waxing and waning of the harpy drug in his system, the sustained influence of the corruptisia, and the very nature of Deep Faerie wearing at the edges of his poorly-defended mind.

"Ezekiel..." he whispered wonderingly. "Wh-... what are you doing here?"

Zeke grunted in satisfaction as he finally managed to get the key in and turn it. "What does it look like I'm doing, you idiot? I'm saving my goddamned damsel in distress." He belched, felt a lump of bile rise with it, and swallowed uncomfortably. "I _told_ you that you needed me."

A faint smile curled the edges of Cassius' sculpted lips and he closed his eyes for a moment. "I will always need you."

"Now you're getting it."

Slowly, gingerly, Zeke peeled the chains away from the cold scorch tracks burned into Cassius' wrists, the grisly work keeping his heart grounded even if his vision was blurring miserably and fading in and out. Once freed, the Seelie sat up carefully and edged off the altar, anxious to get away from it. His wing sagged behind him under its crude bindings and he grimaced for a moment before giving up and letting it hang limply.

Mark twisted his left hand over his heart in a Faerie gesture of respect and knelt before him. "My Lord, if you will direct me, I can find the valley of which you spoke and bring back the clipping with all haste." His blue-green Blackthorn eyes shifted sideways to glance at where Zeke was leaning heavily against the stone block with his head in his hands. "We must not tarry long."

"Nor shall we, " Cassius replied. Without a trace of shame, he produced the corruptisia bulb from its hiding place and lifted it for a quick examination. The muted orange glow still pulsed lightly from within, kept safe by the Faerie's body heat and only a little worse for wear despite its treatment.

Zeke inhaled sharply and choked on his own spit.

"Did you... did you just-" He coughed violently to clear his airway. "Was that an evil plant in your pocket, or were you just happy to see me?" He dissolved into a fit of drunken giggles and doubled over the altar, wheezing.

Mark turned away politely and nickered to Windspear to bring the mount closer to the weakened Faerie and his completely hammered mate. Without a word, Cassius slipped his uninjured right shoulder under one of Zeke's arms and hobbled toward the waiting horse despite the revival of the pain in his leg from the ravager wounds under the crude harpy poultices. Mark swung up into place and reached down to help haul the ex-Shadowhunter up behind him. Zeke was utterly unhelpful in the process.

When the man was fairly well-settled and muttering protests that he was fine, Cassius limped back to the throne to reclaim his _torahk-na_ and the gloves he wore with them. He left the remains of his harness on the canyon floor; it was more trouble than it was worth to bring it back. With his weapons back in place on his hips once more, he clenched his teeth, took what little room remained behind Zeke on Windspear's back, and reached forward to twist his fingers into the Blackthorn boy's belt loops, safely caging his mage between them.

"Take us home, master Hunter," Cassius urged in a quiet voice, more than a little concerned for Zeke.

"No no no nonono, wait," Zeke mumbled quickly.

All three of them went still.

With a sudden, lurching wrench, the human heaved the contents of his stomach over Windspear's flank in a splatter of regret. The Faerie steed danced sideways in annoyance at the mess and tossed her head. Zeke twisted his face down and scrubbed his mouth against the shoulder of Rayce's gear, then let his head fall forward against Mark's neck gratefully with half a grin plastered across his face.

"I'm good. I'm so good now. I'm goooooooooooood."


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

Jace watched the second hand tick forward on the ancient Morgenstern heirloom grandfather clock standing in the corner of the main floor parlour.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

His knee bounced up and down impatiently in triple-time. He steepled his hands and gave his wife a significant look over the tips of his fingers. "Why is this taking so long?"

Clary chewed at her bottom lip. "I don't know." If Alec had not been in the magical equivalent of a coma, she might have ribbed her husband and told him that Magnus had not taken nearly as long to brew the draught that had woken her mother all those years ago, and he must therefore like her better than, you know, the entire world.

But Jace had been near-ashen since the previous day's Council meeting, refusing to eat and chewing his fingernails down to the quick instead. Catarina had arrived within the hour along with many of the Downworlders to whom Alec had extended invitations. The warlock had stayed with the stricken Consul for nearly 24 hours straight, trying to discern the nature of the poison from the would-be assassin's arrow without success. After a brief but heated argument with Seraphine about the danger of using a stasis spell to preserve the Consul against further harm, she had since been forced to conclude that it had likely saved his life. She had never seen such a complicated toxin in all her years.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

"I do not believe that we will need to wait much longer, one way or another," Cassius offered from where he was laying gingerly on a faded grey divan by the window. He wore clean bandages across the many wounds he had suffered on his journey into Deep Faerie, even if he still could not be persuaded to wear a shirt in the house. "The corruptisia will not survive long in this realm. Magnus Bane will either finish the potion in time, or the bloom will expire and it will all be for naught."

Jace clenched his teeth. "Very comforting."

Later the same evening that Alec had been sent to the infirmary, Mark Blackthorn had returned to the manor with a dead-drunk Zeke and a torn-up Faerie, much to everyone's surprise. The one-time Hunter had revealed that Kieran's steed had been trailing after him since its master's death, that Zeke had encountered the beast in the stables along with Jem's loaner horse from the Silent Brothers, and had put two and two together. The Stripped Shadowhunter had cornered Mark and shanghaied him into ferrying them both into Deep Faerie to rescue Cassius. The alcohol in his system appeared to have blunted the edge of the effects of the strange land, but he was still sleeping off the no-doubt wicked hangover.

Cristina had gone uncomfortably quiet when her husband had explained his absence as something more than a stroll through the surrounding hillside. Too well did she know the toll that the Faerie realm could take on someone, and despite the fact that Zeke had clearly not made the trip optional, she could not quite bring herself to reconcile with her husband. He had slept on the couch last night, and they were seated at opposite ends of the parlour today. There would be time to discuss it in private later.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

Sera felt the chill coming from the Latina Shadowhunter and leaned back against Rayce's chest gently until she felt his hands slip around her hips in a protective circle, skimming past where Heosphoros rested against her right leg. As it had in her dream, it just felt _right_ to carry it, and these were uncertain times. She knew without looking that Rayce no doubt wore his double-bladed staff slung across his back, even at home. Baelerithon's threat in the dream world was never far from her thoughts.

She had long-since gamely resigned herself to having that home filled with guests in a strange mix of refugee camp and played-out family reunion. Most of the bedrooms were occupied now, and at least a couch or two that she was aware of after bumping into Mark in the kitchen last night.

She lifted her chin in Jace's direction. "Will you still go if we haven't heard back in time?"

He pushed his fingers back through his dark gold hair and exhaled through his nostrils in frustration. "I have to, don't I?" He curled his left hand into a fist. "I hate this. I hate the waiting, and I hate not knowing what to do. I hate it, I hate it, _I hate it._ "

Alec had sent out invitations to dozens of Downworlders, entreating them to come listen and speak at a Council meeting specifically arranged to go over his mad proposal to expand the ranks of the Shadowhunters to include their Downworld counterparts. With him now incapacitated and all the invitees already in the city, it had felt like they would have been doing him a great injustice if they had cancelled or postponed the summit. Cinder had pleaded with Jace to attend in his parabatai's place, and it was tearing him up to have to take himself out of the action to play politics. He wanted to _fight_.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

"You _do_ know what to do," Jem's soft voice called from where he sat nearly forgotten on the floor in the corner. Books lay open around him in a semi-circle, their spines hidden from view, but Sera had peeked at them earlier when she had see him lift the volumes down almost reverently. _A Tale of Two Cities, Wuthering Heights, Vathek_ , and a beaten-up copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ had made their way down from one of the libraries upstairs, and he had been reading quietly under the bay window ever since, only pausing at times to make another cup of tea. Not even Steven had elected to disturb him, too distracted by all of the other occupants of the manor, and still sensitive to the other man's raw emotions left exposed by rejoining the world without his wife, even in this distant capacity.

"And you _will_ do it," the Seelie Queen put in from where she reclined regally in another borrowed black dress, this one properly covering her legs, if not her arms, and falling to pool at her feet. It moulded itself to her hips and clung revealingly with a daring neckline she never would have chosen for herself, but she had found her sister-in-law's wardrobe entirely unsuitable to wear in public, and this was the best she had been able to find. Despite the fit, no trace of the growing child within her could be seen, her pregnancy still too early to show.

She had become _much_ more moody since learning of Alec's fall, and it was all Sera could do not to pull her hair out at every scoffing sniff in her closet. The Queen had placed all of her trust in the Consul and could not afford to lose his support at so critical a juncture. She seemed to have decided that Jace was a suitable substitute for Alec, and had hardly let him out of her sight since he had arrived at the manor. In all fairness, she was just as irritated by the constant presence of her so-called bodyguards as Jace was by her nagging attention.

"Manners," Aspen muttered from where she sat in front of the coffee table with an array of finished and nearly-finished seraph blades scattered across the glass top. She kept her gaze directed downward at her work, uncharacteristically quiet as she prepped the weapons, needing the familiar task to distract herself from everything rattling around in her brain.

If she had cared to look up, they would have been able to see the dark circles under her eyes from not sleeping for the last two nights. Hunter had tried to force her to get some rest, even going so far as to brandish his stele and threaten her with a sleep rune, but she had refused. He had settled for sitting opposite of her and spending more time watching her than their charge. Anxiety, and though she hated to admit it, fear, clawed at her insides. She wasn't the only Herondale in the room with chewed-down fingernails.

Life had suddenly gotten very _real_ for her over the past 48 hours. Between nearly getting killed by an angry mob of assorted Downworlders in the Rift and seeing her uncle laying in the Gard infirmary like a fresh corpse in a morgue, she was shaken. For all of her bravado with Lucas, this was as close as she had ever come to actual active Shadowhunter duty. The downside of moving home to Alicante and Herondale Manor had been the extreme lack of patrol assignments. She knew that her parents had been doing stuff like this when they were her age, but they had been _right_ in the middle of two wars, and had lived in a Mundane city, not behind the protective shields of the demon towers.

She shot a sideways glance at the Seelie Queen and sighed inwardly. It was a hell of a first job. If an assassin could strike down the Consul in the heart of the Gard, how could she and Hunter even _hope_ to keep the Queen alive this afternoon? Most of the Manor guests were going to clear out any minute if they wanted to make it to the Council meeting in time, and the Queen was going with them as one of the Downworlders invited to attend.

 _We aren't even supposed to be in there,_ she thought gloomily as she traced the final rune into the hilt of the seraph blade she held, more than aware of the restriction placed against Shadowhunters under 18 entering the Gard while the Council was in session. _But uncle Alec said he didn't care what we had to do to keep her safe._ They would figure out a way to stick to her like flies on honey. One half of the shaky truce between the Seelie and the Nephilim was already compromised - they could not afford to lose the other half now.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

Bated tension settled back over the room, everyone too on edge to pretend to make small-talk. Only the grandfather clock dared to intrude upon the quiet as it marked the passing minutes and edged closer to when they would have no choice but to Portal back to the city, rules be damned. Simon and Isabelle were supposed to have smoothed over the permissions required to use the Gard access Portal, and would be standing by with Rafe and Max to head up to the Council chambers together.

Jace felt the slow thud of his heart beating in his chest. It felt _heavier_ than it had yesterday, and he didn't know if it was all in his head or if his body was somehow reacting to his parabatai's peril. He hoped that it was only the dread of what would happen if his brother was torn away from him. Anguish twisted his gut. _Not again._

"You're _sure_ that the Spiral Labyrinth has 'round-the-clock Portal access to Idris right now, right?" He asked for what must have been the sixth or seventh time. "So help me, Raziel, if I have to fish Magnus out of Lake Lyn because he's gone and bounced off the wards, I will-"

Blue light temporarily blinded the gathering until it resolved into the circular shape of a Portal in the parlour. Lacking even a trace of eyeliner or hair gel, Magnus stepped through and tugged on the lapels of his muted black jacket to straighten it from the swirl of the vortex behind him. He drew up short when he took in the sheer number of people who had been anxiously awaiting his arrival.

"Well, well." He lifted his eyebrows almost playfully. "Did you miss me?"

"Did you-"

"Do you have-"

"Are you _kidd_ -"

It was difficult to separate the tumble of questions that poured out, so he spared them the trouble by reaching into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and drawing out a clear vial. A glowing golden solution swam within, shot through with whorls of dark veins that almost seemed to pulse. If Simon had been there, he would no doubt have made a comment about it looking like some sort of evil lava lamp, and then probably declared that _Evil Lava Lamp_ would be a great band name.

Magnus did another quick scan of the group and his face fell slightly. "Did Alec already go on ahead...?"

A dozen pairs of guilty eyes looked down in a single movement. Magnus lifted one manicured hand suspiciously and twitched his fingers up, using a touch of magic to snap Jace's gaze back to meet his own. He read the inadequate apology in those shining gold orbs, so similar in hue to the potion he just finished, and narrowed his own cat-slitted eyes in response.

" _Where. Is. My. Husband?_ "

The Shadowhunter made a calming gesture and rose from the couch slowly as if trying to sooth an animal. A big one. One that could send the manor up in smoke with a snap of his fingers.

"There were..." he struggled for a moment to find the right word, "... _complications..._ at the meeting yesterday. Someone put a poisoned arrow in him, but we didn't know it was poisoned until it was too late. He thought he was going to be okay – the body armour stopped it from getting very far. His last order was that we not tell you what had happened until you had finished in the Labyrinth-"

Terror crashed through Magnus. " _Last_ order? _LAST ORDER_?" Blue sparks fizzled at his fingertips. " _Explain!_ "

"He's still alive!" Jace added hastily, pulling down the left shoulder of his black sweater so that his _parabatai_ rune showed dark and true. "And I swear that Catarina is with him." His words did nothing to dispel the dark look on Magnus' face. "He _forbade_ us from telling you because he didn't want anything to distract-"

"I see," Magnus cut over him, deadly quiet. "Distract." He closed his eyes, slowly took in a deep breath, and then exhaled. "And you chose _this_ moment to begin following orders, Jace? I'm disappointed."

He shook the vial in his hand vigorously for a moment, sending the swirls of darkness spinning wildly within, although the colours remained stubbornly separated, and then set it on the coffee table in the middle of the room. "Well, then. This is yours now. I'm off to the city."

"Wait- Magnus!" Jace grabbed his brother-in-law's elbow before he could begin the complex gestures that accompanied opening a Portal. "What are we supposed to _do_ with this stuff?

The warlock shook his hand off and snorted impatiently. "Wear it as cologne, use it as salad dressing, or put it in a damned spray bottle and douse the Forest for all I care right now. There weren't any directions for use with what you gave me. All it said was that you've got until the glow is gone and the dark bits disappear. The angel blood will slowly purify the taint even as the darkness works to destroy the light."

Jace gaped at him. "It didn't say _anything-_ "

"That was my doing," Cassius put in quietly from the divan. He levered himself up so that he could stand, wincing as his injured leg took the weight. "I accepted this knowing what would be needed. Give me the vial and I will see this through to the end." He limped toward the glowing bottle.

"Hold up." Jace switched from trying to stop Magnus to trying to stop Cassius, placing himself between the Faerie and the potion. He was truly making bad decisions about who to piss off today.

"There is no time to _'hold up'_ , Jonathan Herondale," Cassius said sadly, his thoughts locked on Zeke snoring away upstairs, oblivious to the sacrifice his mate was about to make. Perhaps it was easier not to make a production of it. No drawn-out goodbyes. No final farewells. "The clock is ticking."

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

The Faerie's wing shuddered as he lifted it halfway, then he vanished and reappeared on the other side of the coffee table to get behind Jace as he had during their 'game' in Brocelind Forest days before. He stretched out his hand for the vial.

A terrible, burning cramp ripped up his arm, curling his hand closed and locking his fingers together. He gasped in surprise and pain and fell to his knees, drawing back the afflicted arm.

"Cassius!" Rayce let go of Sera and _shifted_ forward without even thinking about it to kneel at the stricken Faerie's side. "You should not use your gift while you are still regaining your str-"

"No." The Faerie grimaced as he used his left hand to force his right to relax and open once more. He flexed his fingers slowly, dread already beginning to trickle through his veins. "I do not believe my gift is the cause." He reached for the bottle again and cried out when his hand spasmed shut painfully in response, his body refusing to pick up the vial. His breaths came in shallow pants as he massaged out the knotted muscles anew. He tore away the bandages that covered the deep weals burned into his wrists from the cold iron manacles of the Harpies, but they were not the source of the pain.

A slinking presence took shape in his mind, and he felt a faint and familiar pressure applied.

 _You swore a vow_ , Jiahao's voice admonished him from within the confines of his mind.

 _Get out,_ Cassius seethed back at him reflexively. His mind raced in a wild snarl, fear taking root that perhaps he had never been rescued from Deep Faerie by Zeke and the Blackthorn boy, that he still lay collapsed within the grasp of the corruptisia's influence. He struggled to slam shut the unexpected breach in his mental defenses and found himself unable to close the gap.

 _You never should have let me in again, Cassius,_ Jiahao purred. _Did you not think I would leave myself a secret path to return as I desired?_

Their silent exchange remained hidden from the others in the parlour who watched with deep concern etched on their faces. Humans. Afraid that a Faerie was perhaps unwell. He felt his heart lift with hope for the future, but Jiahao's insidious presence was quick to smother it.

 _There will be no pretty sacrifice for you to escape your bargain,_ the exiled Seelie Lord sent harshly. _You are bound by your word and by the blood in your veins, and no trickery on your part will change that._ _I have already suffered a broken oath from one of the Greater Fey; I will not suffer another. You will not embrace death to avoid embracing me._ A smirk seemed to cross the bond between their minds. _One of your precious Mortals will have to go in your place. I will enjoy watching you tell them the price they will have to pay to destroy Lucifer's taint on the Forest..._ His voice trailed off as he faded back into whatever dark hole he had carved out for himself within Cassius' mind during the time they had been connected to share Siarinath's tale.

"Cassius?" Rayce prompted him once more. "Are you all right?"

The Faerie closed his eyes in defeat. "No," he whispered. "I fear I was all wrong, in truth." He looked up and Rayce was surprised to see the glitter of a tear streak down the other man's face. "And now one of you must pay for my arrogance."

Jace's golden eyes flashed as he glanced back at the clock for a moment before staring back down at the Faerie. "What the hell does that mean?"

"The potion." Cassius answered faintly, mild shock setting in as the full weight of what he had done began to settle in. "There _were_ directions for its dispensation, but I concealed them by omission when I passed on the pages, carefully tearing those sections away to avoid this very moment."

Clary's face fell slightly, and her eyebrows drew together in confusion. She folded her arms across her chest. "You... lied? To us? Why?"

He shook his head. "Because the final piece of the magic required is a willing a sacrifice, a vessel through which the Forest could be tricked into consuming the very poison that would destroy it. The trees have been subverted to feed upon flesh and blood, and so only a being with the truest intentions could serve as the final catalyst, voluntarily imbibing the mixture and then surrendering to the terrible embrace of the Forest. The purity of the living sacrifice activates the angel blood; the horror of the death satisfies the darkness of the corruptisia essence. The two combine within the host and their power is released when the body is absorbed into the very heart of Lucifer's foothold on this world. Nothing will be able to reverse the cleansing once it begins – the magic will sweep through the whole of the Forest and erase his influence forever. Those who bear the blood of the Hunt will likely not escape the purge, and I believe that this will put an end to our missing Hunters and even Baelerithon himself."

He took a deep breath in the deathly silence that followed. "I had intended to make the sacrifice myself, but I have misjudged an old enemy. My body is no longer my own until the potion has proven its value and the terms of the agreement regarding the price of the recipe are settled." His grey eyes turned up to search the faces of those around him. _Who will die this day for my error?_ "I am truly sorry."

Worried looks flickered around the room as the Shadowhunters and their allies took stock of who was present, of who was going to shoulder the terrible charge.

"I'll do it," Jace offered, his jaw tightening as he squared his resolve. "I've spent my whole life killing demons, I may as well take down the big guy on my way out."

"Jace, _no!_ " Clary hissed. "You have to be here for us right now. For Alec." She laid her hand on his arm gently. "What do you think it would do to him if you died while he's like this? If he lost his parabatai when he's already so weak?"

" _Don't,_ " he warned under his breath. "Don't even say it."

Hunter set down the seraph blade he had been finishing and rose to his feet. "She's right. You're too important to the Clave." He took a steadying breath. "But I'm not. I can do it."

"You will _not!_ " Aspen thundered, dropping her own weapon to scatter the other hilts on the table. "Uncle Alec gave us a job to do and _we aren't finished yet._ "

Clary shook her head. "And your parents would never allow it. There's no way that either of you are going, and that's final," she finished over the children's protests.

"Woah, woah, woah," Steven cut in. "Guys. I'm right here. Human sacrifice. _All_ of you are important. I'm _literally_ a red shirt over here." He plucked at the edge of the white T-shirt he was wearing. "If anyone's gonna go, it should be me. I've always wanted to be the hero! I could _literally_ save the world – don't take this from me. I'm ready."

"Steven, no," Sera broke in. "You're forgetting that you're still Mr. Mostly-Mundane no matter what kind of things you've been learning to do here. You'd go crazy before you even got close-"

"Then let me get wasted!" He argued back. "It worked for that Zeke guy, didn't it?"

"Jury's still out on that one," Jace muttered.

"You _can't_ go," Sera continued heatedly. "It's not like you even have a way of getting there-"

"But I do," a low voice interrupted from the couch. A dozen people swivelled to look, and Mark nodded to himself, affirming what he already knew had to happen. "It must be me."

" _No, mi carazon_ ," Cristina swore vehemently. "It does not have to be you. We left this life _twenty years_ ago, and we swore it would not have us after what we went through to be together. Think of the _children,_ " she pleaded.

The others seemed to melt away from him as he closed the distance between himself and his wife until he could take her hands in his own. Heedless of how many people were watching, he pressed his lips to her fingers and bowed his head. "But I am one of _them_ , too. A Hunter. No matter how far I run, or how well I hide, I cannot escape the truth. My heart beats with the blood of the Hunt as well, its curse upon me. My fate is tied to theirs." Realization dawned for everyone else in the room who had been a step behind. "One way or another, I will not see the end of this, _mi amore,_ but I can choose to meet that end while striking the final blow. How can I run from this and let someone else die in my place so that I may have a few more hours to live? The Hunt will be destroyed today, and me with it."

Cristina felt the lump in her throat and tried to swallow past it, but it refused to budge. Her liquid brown eyes pleaded with his mismatched blue-green and gold, but her lips could not form the words to stop him. They had been so focused on the Forest that they had forgotten to wonder what would happen to the Hunters held in thrall by Lucifer's essence when it was eradicated. Their immortal souls were tied to his in the darkness from which Sera had rescued Rayce. Tears welled in his wife's eyes and he brushed them away with his thumbs, cradling her face. He kissed her gently and drew back.

"There's not much time."

"Then we must not waste it," she whispered back. "You must..." She tried to swallow again. "I do not know how you will say goodbye to them."

 _Cristinalucasmicaelaesmeralda._

The names repeated in his mind over and over, etched on his heart until it felt like it surely had to shatter. He felt hollow, like all the strength and confidence that had been returning to him with each day he spent in Idris was suddenly draining away. A numbness began to set in.

 _Tick-tock, tick-tock._

Jace glanced at the clock and blew out the breath he had been holding. "We're out of time," he swore quietly, but in the silence of the room, it seemed jarringly loud, intruding on the sombre tone. He cast a pained look at where Cristina and Mark stood together. "We have to leave..."

Cristina nodded and hurriedly scrubbed away another tear that had escaped. "Go," she said quickly. "He should... we should be alone for this." She covered her face with her fingers. "Go."

Without knowing what else to do, Jace moved forward to pull Mark into an embrace, pouring all of the unspoken thanks and appreciation for what the man was going to do into the hug. Nearly twenty-five years earlier they had parted ways on dangerous errands, but it had not felt nearly so final as this.

As if he had set off a chain reaction, all of the Nephilim came forward to pay their respects, each one hugging the thin Shadowhunter tightly in turn, some whispering their farewells. It was not in their nature to say goodbye before leaving for battle because it was considered bad luck, but this was not a fight that was meant to be won. There would be no coming back for him.

When they were finished, tears ran freely down Mark's face. He cleared his throat, knowing the worst was still to come when he went upstairs. "Please... please tell my brothers and sisters that I love them, that I have always loved them, and that I wish I had been permitted to be a part of their lives after what happened in Los Angeles. I cannot tell you what it has meant to me to see you all again, to be with you even if only for a few days. You make me remember what it is to be Nephilim once more, and it has been an honour to fight at your side." He took a calming breath and let it out slowly. "I may have the blood of a Hunter, but I have the heart of a Nephilim."

" _Ave_ ," Jace said quietly, not bothering to wipe away the shining streaks across his cheekbones. He scooped up the potion they had risked so much for and pressed the glowing vial into the half-Faerie's hands. " _Ave atque vale, frater._ " He bowed his head and the others followed.

When Mark and Cristina had left the parlour, Clary took out her stele and guiltily looked for a clear wall upon which to draw a Portal rune to connect to the Gard access. Izzy and Simon were probably having fits about how close they were cutting it.

Sera caught the searching look and pushed herself off the door frame that led back to the main hall. She had been silent through the exchange, stunned by the revelations. She wondered if she would have had the courage to volunteer to go if she had not been pregnant. Just this once, being selfish was the right answer.

"Let me do it," she said quietly. Her hand grazed the faded wallpaper above the wood panelling and she focused her power on the Portal rune to bring it to life. When it was open, she stepped aside to let the others through. She would have to go last.

Magnus was the first to dash through the Portal, anxious to see his sons and find his husband. Despite the importance of the meeting, Sera wondered if he would make his way to the Council chamber at all, if he could make the same decision Jace had been forced to make and speak for Alec in his absence.

Jace and Clary were next, their faces set with twin looks of grim determination. For any of this to be worth it, they needed to win today, and it wasn't going to be easy.

The Seelie Queen swept after the Consul's parabatai without sparing a backwards glance at her two shadows. Hunter and Aspen abandoned the pile of completed seraph blades on the table and hurried after her, their forms disappearing through the surface of the Portal without a sound.

Rayce followed his sister and stood by Sera's side, slipping his hand around her own. Cassius was a step behind, but he drew up short of the Portal with a sudden lurch.

"I should not go," he whispered more to himself than to them, anguish still burning in his eyes. He felt contaminated by Jiahao's silent presence, and fearful of what secrets he may have already unknowingly given away. Was he an unwilling spy in their midst? How much access to his mind and body did Jiahao truly have? "I cannot trust myself, beautiful Sera. But I will find a way to make amends for what I have cost you all today."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his cheek. "It's not your fault."

His sad grey eyes held hers as he kissed her hand in parting. He was nearly inaudible when he bowed his head for a moment and turned away. "Then why does it hurt so much?"

Steven used his strange brand of Sight to watch the Greater Faerie pad down the hallway toward the back of the Manor, presumably to avoid going upstairs and interrupting the impossible goodbyes being said behind closed doors. Cassius was the easiest for him to 'see', ahead of Sera and then the Seelie Queen. From there, it was a bit of a toss-up between the Herondales and Rayce. For the first time since his accident, he finally felt normal, felt like he belonged somewhere, but the abrupt exit of all the supernaturals reminded him of his place in all of this. He was lucky to even be here at all.

He nodded once to his only friend. "I'll keep an eye on things here," he joked half-heartedly.

Sera gave him a faint smile in return. "Two, if you can manage it. We'll be back soon." She squeezed Rayce's hand and surveyed the empty couches and chairs. How had she ever thought the Manor had felt full?

Rayce stepped backward through the Portal, drawing her after him, and they left the Manor behind. The light blinked out behind Sera as she vanished, and the mostly-Mundane shook his head before replying to the now silent room, "I really, _really_ hope so."

Jace rubbed his eyes to clear away some of the sting caused by fatigue. He needed to sleep, but sleep was going to have to wait. One seat away, Inquisitor Whitescar rose to her feet and lifted her hands to call for order in the Council chamber. He felt like he had not even left yesterday, like he was still trapped in the the same never-ending day that his brother had been cut down. From what Isabelle had been able to tell him in the rush from the Gard Portal downstairs, there had been no change in Alec's condition, but that was nothing he could not already sense through their bond.

Catarina had refused to leave the infirmary for the Council meeting and had promised to continue testing the poison in the Consul's body to figure out what it was or where it had come from. No one had managed to cure the unnamed assassin yet, either, though both Shadowhunters and warlocks were working on it. There was still hope that if his suicide attempt could be reversed and the stasis spell lifted, he could be made to tell them what he had used and who had sent him. Maellartach would get the truth from him.

"Good morning, Nephilim and Downworld guests," Cinder began with a nod to the nearly-full gallery on the right side of the room where the warlocks, werewolves, vampires, and the Seelie Queen herself had been seated. She counted nearly sixty of them all together, and inwardly marvelled that so many would be loyal enough to Alec to come to the City of Glass for this gathering. "Please allow me to extend the Consul's thanks to you for-"

"Is he dead?" A woman's voice called up from somewhere in the centre sections.

"He is _not_ dead," Jace snapped back from his place on the dais. Alec's chair sat empty at his side, a hole that could not be filled. The others were all there; Selene, the vampire representative, Roran, who stood for the werewolves, and tiny Seraphine for the warlocks. Each of them had played host to their brethren overnight, filling them in on as much of Alec's grand design as they had been told by the Inquisitor. Jace had no idea what their reaction to the information had been, but an awful lot of them had chosen to come, so he took that as a positive sign. He caught sight of Lily Chen and Maia Velasquez in the front row of the Downworlder section, the former reclining in her chair and examining her nails while the latter kept a sharp eye on the rest of the chamber.

The Inquisitor laid a cautioning hand on Jace's wrist and eyed the Shadowhunter evenly. "The Consul's condition remains unchanged, and he is receiving care from both the Silent Brothers and one of our warlock allies. And it is the very spirit of that care that brings us together today – the uniting of Nephilim and Downworlder." She took a steadying breath. "I am not Alec Lightwood. I do not have all the answers for you that he would have had. But we owe it to him to open this discussion, to listen to each other and to begin to sketch out the future we want to write for ourselves.

"To say that the Shadow World has been irrevocably changed during these last few weeks would be an understatement," she continued, gaining confidence as she went on uninterrupted. "Our team on Wrangel Island is still performing tests, but all of their initial reports indicate that the world's wards are truly healed, and that the slow but steady leak of earth magic has been halted. Today, we must ask ourselves what this means not only for us, but for future generations. We have, at long last, won the war against demons. What then becomes of the demon slayers? Of their children? Of their allies? These are some of the questions your Consul would have asked you today. I will listen to your answers."

She lowered herself back down into the leather-backed chair set behind the heavy wooden desk that ran the length of the balustrade below. A few weeks ago, her hands might have been shaking after speaking to the Clave like that, but she was starting to feel like some of the Consul's quiet strength had begun to seep into her, and it filled her with pride to be carrying his cause forward for him. She no longer felt like there had been a mistake in the vote for a new Inquisitor, like she had ridden the coattails of Everett's sacking into her office. She had earned it, and was continuing to prove that she deserved to be where she was.

A female Shadowhunter who looked to be in her late 20s, barely older than Cinder herself, rose to her feet near the front of the centre section and lifted her hand hesitantly. "Not to sound rude, Inquisitor..."

"That usually means they're gonna say something rude," Jace huffed out the corner of his mouth to Selene.

"... but why are we even talking about something like this when we've got bigger problems that we should be worrying about?" A few noises of assent flitted around the room, and some of the Nephilim nodded in agreement. "I mean... don't we need to figure out stuff like how we're going to rebuild the city? Or start tracking down all the deserters who haven't reported back in to their Institutes? Or what about these dead zones we've been hearing about all over? Where the land is just suddenly dying? Is it because of what was done on Wrangel Island? Honestly, there are just too many other questions right now."

Cinder took the criticism in stride, letting it roll off her without taking it personally. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for Alec all these years, and it was as if she could feel him there with her in spirit, lending her his indomitable patience.

"You're asking all the right questions, Talia, and I can't fault you for that. What Alec would want is for you to see is that all of these issues tie in to why we are here today. He knew that the city would need to be rebuilt, but he dreamed of a new Alicante where _all_ of us had a place to live. Why, then, would we make those plans before we knew how to include the Downworlders?"

Surprised eyebrows flew up all throughout the Nephilim seating areas, while the Downworlders remained unruffled. Their representatives had described Alec's vision of a new city where they would all be free to live without having to hide what they were.

The Inquisitor pressed on without allowing anyone to jump in the gap left by the temporarily-stunned Shadowhunters. "We cannot begin to hunt down the so-called deserters until we have decided on whether or not they will even be seen as such in the new order. The war is _over._ Your Consul wants you to consider whether or not it is still fair to force every Nephilim child to train, whether or not it is still fair to conscript every Nephilim warrior to serve until they are killed in the line of duty. He envisions the future of the Shadowhunters to be service by _choice,_ and he is inviting all us to _choose_ whether or not we want to be a part of that future.

"In that future, the missing Nephilim who did not return to their Institutes and estates would no longer be viewed as deserters requiring sentencing. They would not be Stripped, nor executed. They would be discharged from our ranks and free to lead their lives without interference from the Clave, so long as they keep to the Convenant. They would be free to marry into the Mundane world if they chose, their children given the option to join our ranks _without_ being asked to forsake their families."

High above the Council chamber floor, Aspen nearly fell off the support beam she was crouched upon to keep an eye on the Seelie Queen. The strength of the same glamour runes she had applied to herself and Hunter during their demonstration for the Queen remained steady while all eyes were focused on the unfolding discussion below, keeping them hidden from view, but if the crowd _heard_ something above and all looked up, those runes would be hard-pressed to hold.

 _Marry Mundanes._ That was about all her brain processed. _Marry Mundanes and not be punished for it._ Her uncle was going against everything the Clave had been upholding for a thousand years, and she couldn't have been happier. What Cinder was saying made _sense._ It wasn't fair to keep living by the same laws when everything else was different now. It was time for _change._

 _But change is what we suck at,_ she thought grimly as she slid her stele back into a cargo pocket on the side of her pants.

"As for the 'dead zones', as you so aptly called them, we are already taking action with our newly-reinstated allies, the Seelie." She swept her hand out to her right to indicate where the Queen sat front and centre among the Downworlders.

Arynessa rose to her feet, the Seelie crown sparkling atop violet tresses brushed out until they shone in the witchlight in sharp contrast with the borrowed black dress. Her delicate gossamer wings fluttered once when she turned to face the assembly.

"I have already called for all of my Seelie Earthsingers and Leyweavers to report to the shelter camps that are being set up inside the borders of Brocelind Forest. My people were scattered by the destruction of our Court, and it will take time to gather them all, but I have ordered them to begin to undo the curses laid down on the Fey territories twenty years ago. They will find these blight spots and learn what may be done to remedy them. The Seelie will honour their bargain with your Consul. We will work to set the earth magic right after the balance was altered on Wrangel Island."

A reedy, wheezing voice rasped out from the left side of the gallery. "You seem awfully eager to get your claws right back into that earth magic, girl." Senhora Monteverde, the ancient Head of the Lisbon Institute, clacked her cane against the railing in front of her wheelchair to make her point. "Going to steal more of it for that Rift of yours, hmm? Don't stand there and try to pretend that we don't know what your kind was doing behind our backs all these years-"

The Queen's temper flared. "You left us _no choice_ but to do everything behind your backs. You cut us off from everything. We did what we had to _survive!_ "

The aged Shadowhunter's dour mouth twisted into a sneer. "We should have stamped you out when we had the chance. This is not what Raziel wanted! If He had wanted creatures like you in His service, He would have included you the first-"

"No, aunt Ines!" Carolina Monteverde jumped to her feet from the middle of the centre galley, and her brother Marco was slow to follow, his leg still not fully healed after the harrowing battle in Buenos Aires. It was doubtful that it would ever be as strong as it was before. "We have fought side by side with the Consul and his friends, right along with the vampire clans and werewolf packs of our city. We would not be here if it were not for them, and it proved that we can and _should_ be working together. Can you not see that he would gladly give his life to save us from ourselves? To keep us from staying on this ridiculous path of racism and hatred? Raziel created our order a thousand years ago, but things have changed. We aren't what we once were, and neither are _they_." She folded her arms across her chest defiantly. "Your time is over. Ours is just beginning."

Whoops and shouts broke out to support the Monteverde siblings and the room exploded into near chaos. The old crone from the Lisbon Institute was hastily wheeled out by one of the Shadowhunters of her enclave despite her hoarse screams about the filth that had been allowed to grow in Alicante. Cheers accompanied her unwilling departure, and it took Cinder nearly a full five minutes to regain some semblance of control over the floor once more.

"Order!" She called. "I said _order!_ "

Roran shook his head in disbelief before putting his fingers in his mouth and letting out an ear-piercing whistle that shocked everyone into silence. The wolf felt a low rumble of satisfaction in his chest as the Shadowhunters began guiltily retaking their seats, and then he nodded to Cinder to continue.

The Inquisitor cleared her throat. "I think perhaps we should hear from a different perspective. I would like to turn the floor over to Maia Velasquez, the leader of the Praetor Lupus."

All eyes turned to the legendary werewolf. Witchlight reflected off the shiny scar on her neck where she had been bitten and Turned. Twenty years of first rebuilding and then leading the Praetor had transformed her into a formidable politician in her own right. When she spoke, people listened.

"I'll admit that I was pretty surprised when Roran filled me in on all of this last night. I'd like to think that I was close – _am_ close," she quickly corrected herself, "to Alec, and he never said anything about doing something like this before, but I guess I really should have seen it coming. I was up all night thinking about this proposal, and I suppose that since I've been given the spotlight, I want to throw out some questions of my own."

She pushed her thick, brown-gold curls back from her face. "As some of you know, the Praetor Lupus has been working to protect and police newly-turned Downworlders for over two centuries. We mostly keep to ourselves, and we avoid getting tangled up in Clave politics. The last time we got involved, we were very nearly destroyed by Sebastian Morgenstern and his Endarkened."

Clary's heart sank at the mention of her brother. Was he ever going to truly be gone? Or would the ghost of his actions continue to haunt them forever? It felt like he simply refused to die.

"For those of you who _don't_ know, we aren't just a ragtag pack of wolves," Maia continued. "We are organized, centralized, and if I do say so myself, pretty damn good at doing what we do, and we do it without all the civil insurrection that you seem to have to deal with every few years. So I would like to ask the Nephilim for an honest answer. Why should we join you? Alec was – _is –_ my friend, but this can't be a personal decision. I can only speak for the Praetor, but I'm sure the packs have their own thoughts on the matter."

Cinder felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She had been counting on Maia's support. She knew about the Consul's friendship with her, knew that she was close to the Herondales, and had been certain that she would speak in favour of the alliance. That was why she had chosen her to speak second, after the Queen, who _had_ to be Alec's side.

Roran pushed his chair back and lifted his head to Maia as a mark of respect. "You're right, Praefect Velasquez, the packs do have their own thoughts, and they've given me leave to speak for them today as their representative on the Council."

Maia nodded in deference and sat back down so that the attention shifted back to the werewolf on the dais.

"No one can deny that the Praetor Lupus is an efficient, well-run organization that has structure, rules, and a purpose, Praefect. But I challenge you to ask yourself if the same could be said if _every_ werewolf was expected to join. You can point fingers at bad apples like Valentine and Sebastian Morgenstern, or even Horace and Zara Dearborn, but you can't say that we don't have them too. The difference between the Clave and the Praetor is that you get to choose your membership, and have your members choose you. You swell your ranks with those who wish to give back to their kind, who want to protect others. You can't be surprised then, that you find yourself surrounded only by like-minded wolves who are united and driven by the same ideals."

Some heads bobbed in agreement along the galleries, and Roran continued, encouraged. "Those of us who don't join the Praetor, or hell, even know it exists... well, we get along just fine, too. Some of us don't even fall in with a pack, choosing a solitary life. Luke lived solo for a long time before he took up leadership of the downtown pack in New York. But you and I both know what happens to the rogue wolves when they crop up." His voice hardened from dark honey to amber. "They need to be put down. And it's not always the Praetor that gets to them. As much as us Downworlders like to think that we're the ones constantly cleaning up one Nephilim mess after another, we tend to forget that they've been cleaning up after us for a lot longer."

He leaned forward and curled his big hands around the railing in front of the long desk. "We've muttered and complained, and rightfully so, sometimes, about their methods for 'dealing' with us. But how can we expect anything to change if we don't change what we're doing? If we take this offer to join their ranks, we would be able to help shape and enforce the laws they follow. If one of our own found themselves on the wrong side of the law, _we_ would be there, not just the Nephilim. _We_ would have a presence, _we_ would be involved, and we could break the cycle of blaming the Shadowhunters for the mistreatment of our kind. We would have an equal share in the policing of Downworld."

A scattering of applause followed his declaration, and he allowed himself a tiny smile as he finished laying out what the pack leaders had agreed upon the night before.

"We say, let werewolves choose the Praetor. Let them choose their packs. And now, let them choose the Clave!"

The werewolves in the galleries cheered and a few howled their approval. Surprised Nephilim clapped along with them, amazed that their lupine allies were even remotely interested in sharing the burden of keeping the Shadow World in line.

"Inquisitor," one the Shadowhunter men called from the left gallery as he rose to his feet signalling that he wished to speak. The black eye-patch he wore was striking, and immediately identifying. Cinder nodded to him and held up her hand to silence the crowd. This time, they obeyed.

"The Chair recognizes Diego Rocio Rosales, Executor of the Centurion Order."

"Thank you, Inquisitor. Please allow me to be the first to say that while I support the Consul's bid for inclusivity in our ranks, I would like to pose a very grave question about one particular aspect of his plan."

Cinder nodded for him to continue, at once grateful for his open support, and fearful of what flaw he had found that was so important.

"The Consul wishes to release members of the Clave from service now that the war against demonkind is won, and that is a very generous offer. Moreover, he would give his blessing to retired Shadowhunters who wished to marry into the Mundane world and forget this life of blood and scars. Presumably, he would allow the children of those unions to live un-Marked if they did not opt to join the Clave, thinning their blood further as they continue their bloodlines. If this were allowed to continue, our numbers would dwindle to a critical point far in the future. Did he speak at all about what the consequences of this would be if ever the wards were to be breached once more and our world was left with the barest handful of Nephilim ready to take up their seraph blades once more?"

Before the murmurs could gain traction, Cinder lifted her voice above them. It was time to hit them with the truth that Alec hadn't had the heart to tell them. "And how many of us are there _now_ , Executor?" The dark-haired Shadowhunter did not answer, shaking his head and spreading his hands to indicate that he did not know. She nodded. "I have been working closely with the Consul since his re-election, and we have both been bearing the weight of the reports that have been coming in from the world's Institutes. Very nearly all of them have reported in now with their active rosters following the mass desertions and the heavy losses we incurred during the world-wide breach."

It felt as if the entire room were holding their breath.

"Fewer than two thousand," she said bitterly. "We have approximately ten percent of the world's Shadowhunters in this room today. The Consul was not concerned about the _eventual_ shortage of Nephilim – he is trying to solve _today's_ crisis. We cannot garrison the remaining Institutes as we stand now. It was his hope that in joining us, our allies would bolster our ranks sufficiently to maintain our presence in the world. It made him sick to think of the thousands of Mundane children we would risk if we were forced to use the Mortal Cup, but it remains a last resort if our situation becomes even more desperate."

Silence followed the declaration.

 _Fewer than two thousand._

Wide eyes looked around the room and tried to comprehend how many of them really had survived. Even the Downworlders were stunned, some of them having come from the cities where they had been forewarned by the Consul's sons about the coming danger. Many of them now wondered what would have happened if they had not had those warnings, if the werewolves, vampires, and warlocks of their home cities had not lent their aid against the crush of demons.

 _Ten percent._

The Inquisitor gave them only a minute more to absorb the impact of her pronouncement before turning her attention to the vampire representative on her right.

"What say the Children of the Night in this, Selene?"

The vampire rose coolly, her expression an inscrutable mask. Dark eyes framed by shoulder-length dark hair left to flow loosely surveyed the gathered assembly. Her neat black pantsuit was immaculate, and she showed none of the tiredness that she should have evidenced for being awake during daylight hours. She was old enough to have outgrown the worst of the lethargy that pulled at her kind when the sun rode high in the sky, and years of forcing herself to attend these Council meetings had inured her to the discomfort.

"We are... private... individuals," she began quietly, commanding the attention of the room. "It has never been in our nature to seek the spotlight..."

"Or any kind of light," Jace whispered almost too quietly to be heard, his heart no longer in the jokes that had once gotten him through these meetings with Alec by his side. His chest ached.

"...and we feel no need to do so now. It sounds as though you will already have the support of the werewolves, so you will forgive us if we choose not to become more deeply involved. The clans feel strongly that our species' long-running blood-feuds will only boil over if forced to work tog-"

"Oh, bull _shit!"_ Lily Chen spat from her seat in the front row. "We can work together when we _want_ to work together. What do you think we've been doing," she pointed between herself and Maia, "for the last twenty-five years, huh? Don't feed them that garbage, Selene. Tell them what the clans _really_ said. Or _I_ will."

Eyebrows lifted around the room and Selene sighed in annoyance. "One day you will understand diplomacy, child."

"Yeah, well, until then, I guess I'll just have to understand lying."

Selene restrained herself from hissing at the younger vampire. "My way would have preserved more of our kind's friendship with the Nephilim, child. Remember that." She shook her head and gave the Inquisitor an apologetic look. "The clans... they have read the situation just as your Executor has. They can count. They know that the Nephilim will likely be extinct in a few centuries, or sooner, if they are not careful. But we..." she shrugged. "We are immortal. Our kind will continue as they always have. Demons may have brought the disease that quickened our race into being all those millenia ago, but they have no bearing on our continued survival now." She lowered her eyes, ashamed of her people. "Forgive us, Inquisitor, but the clans see no value in calling themselves Shadowhunters and taking up the shield."

Lily shoved back her seat angrily and jabbed a finger at the vampire representative. "I _told_ you last night that some of them might want it. Don't you _dare_ close the door on this for all of us!"

A pale blush rose in Selene's cheeks, a sure sign that she had fed that morning before coming to the meeting. "And I told _you_ that our kind _cannot_ be divided by this. If some choose to join the Clave, it will draw a line in the sand. You are _far_ too young to know about the clan wars of ages past, to know the price paid in immortal blood when vampire raised arms against vampire. Even in your lifetime, you were not present when the decision was made to abstain from the Mortal War. Do you not think there were those among us who wished to fight Valentine Morgenstern?" She clenched her hands closed in a rare display of emotion. "Of course there were. But we presented a _unified_ front to the Nephilim, even when there were dissenters among us. You do not understand what you have done this day."

"Yeah, I do," Lily bit back. "I gave us a chance. I _do_ remember what happened when the Fey were cut out of the Shadow World, and I don't want _us_ to be left behind this time." She turned her gaze back up to Cinder on the dais. "If any vampire comes to you and wants to join, let them, Inquisitor. Don't shut us out," she begged. "Some of us know that this can work."

A low voice came from the back of room, near the doors where the latecomers were stuck standing without seats. " _D_ _í_ _os_ , of course it works."

Rafe Lightwood pushed his way forward through the crowded aisle, elbowing other Shadowhunters out of his way with one arm while he drew his brother along in his wake with the other. Nervous terror was written all over Max's blue-skinned face, his shy nature having kept him out of sight for much of his life. He was a living paradox of the Shadowhunter's beliefs.

Raised with one foot firmly in the Nephilim world through one father and a brother while the other rested in the warlock's world through his other father and his own power, he had come to be accepted as a bit of a curiosity by the Clave at large. A warlock, yes, but clearly 'tame'.

Rafe had been fiercely loyal to his brother throughout their childhood, a constant shield against those who did not understand him until they came to know the quiet and endearing warlock child they had thought to mock. Their circle of friends had grown with each passing year, spreading not only through the City of Glass when they had moved there following Alec's election, but all throughout Downworld, first through Magnus' eclectic contacts, and later on their own. Rarely separated, they crossed barriers effortlessly as it simply became widely-known that they were a package deal. Downworlders no longer batted an eye when they encountered Rafe with Max, and vice versa.

The gathered Downworlders nodded approvingly as the brothers made their way up the aisle. Nearly all of them had been visited by the pair before the massive demon attacks, and many owed their lives to the two men. They looked on intently and waited.

Max shot an anxious wave at his uncle Jace on the dais and received a reassuring, if slightly confused, nod in return.

"We have no need of an introduction, I think," Rafe announced to the enclave. "You all know us, and we know most of you. You know who we are, and you know what we are." Appreciative smiles appeared on many of the faces, both Nephilim and Downworlder. It was hard not to like the brothers.

Rafe gave them his biggest, fakest smile. "Yes. Me, a Nephilim warrior. _Mi hermano_ ," he patted Max's shoulder, "a lowly warlock." Snorts of disgust went through the assembly and Rafe pressed a hand to his chest in disbelief. "No? You do not agree? But you seem to divide everyone else so easily!" He cast his arm out at the Shadowhunters. "You point, you say ' _good'_ when you see one of the Nephilim." He lifted his other hand to the gallery of Downworlders. "And you. You point, you say ' _bad'_ when you see one of us. But when you see my brother and I together, you just say _'good'_. Why are we different? Why are we special?"

The crowd shifted uneasily in the seats, but no one stepped up to answer the question, so he seized upon the opportunity to answer it himself. "Because have always been one. We were raised together. We live together. We fight together." His voice cracked for a moment and he swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat.

"And now, here today, I listen to my father's words spoken by the Inquisitor. When I hear her say to you that we should rebuild the city with a place for all, I hear my father say to you, _'Live together'._ When I hear her say to you that we should join forces, I hear my father say to you, ' _Fight together'._ But then what do I hear from you? I hear from you, _this will not work_."

He shook his head in a show of disappointment that rolled over the assembly, making many feel ashamed of their behaviour.

"Over twenty-five years ago, Clary Herondale gave you the solution, gave you what you needed to join our peoples once and for all, and for _one night_ , you used it. You used it, you forgot it, and you never looked twice at what it could do for you."

Frustrated, he lifted the hem of his shirt and threw it off in one swift motion. Shocked gasps followed when the Nephilim began to recognize the pattern of scars across his body, one rune used hundreds of times in the past. Some of the Shadowhunters were old enough to have borne the same rune for that single night in their history, and they glanced down at the backs of their non-dominant hands unconsciously.

Faded _alliance_ rune scars criss-crossed Rafe Lightwood's body, and there was no doubt that they would find more on his legs if they cared to look. In the years following the Mortal War, there had been virtually no mention of the alliance rune, and it had become little more than a footnote in the histories that were told of the war. Nephilim children learned it, as they did many of the new runes that Clary had brought forward for the Clave, but they were never given cause to use it. Why would they? When would they ever find themselves trusting a Downworlder enough to share their abilities? But one Nephilim child had tried.

A knowing smile crept up at the corners of Sera's mouth where she stood near the back of the assembly with the other late arrivals and she squeezed Rayce's hand. She remembered how she had used the _alliance_ rune on him weeks ago when she had freed him from the werewolves who were going to turn him back over to the Seelie Court. It had been an imperfect joining; it was never meant to be used by Shadowhunters alone. But Rayce was only half-Nephilim, and they had each inherited a portion of the other's gift for a precious few minutes before the side effects of the improper use had brought them down.

She had grown up far away from the Clave and their prejudice. Having spent her entire life remaining hidden from the Shadowhunters lest she be discovered for what she was, her only friends had been the Downworlders she had found through her gift. Her contact list was a testament to how many she had worked with over the years while she had planned Rayce's escape from the Courts. She had not thought twice about using the _alliance_ rune when she had needed his gift, her love and trust for him already rock-solid. Now it was the Clave's turn to start trusting their allies.

"So I want you to look at me," Rafe breathed, his lean chest heaving slightly with the excitement of the moment. "I want you to look at me, and I want you to tell me that _this will not work._ You say that if the Angel had wanted the Downworlders to serve, He would have told Jonathan Shadowhunter to align with them. Well, I say to you – the Angel blessed my aunt Clary with her gift for a reason. The _alliance_ rune gives you the power of your enemy – it joins opposites - but what if we were no longer enemies? She brought this rune into our world in our lifetime because the time is _now._ Because He is telling you that our division is at an end. Our alliance must begin _now._ "

An uncomfortable pall settled over the room as the two brothers backed away from the centre of the floor toward the railing, Rafe stubbornly refusing to pull his shirt back on, and Cinder had no choice but to look down the left side of the dais to find Seraphine in her place, second from the end.

The diminutive warlock had been very withdrawn since the previous day when she had used her magic to cast the stasis spell that had both saved and potentially doomed the Consul if it could not be safely lifted when a cure to the poison was found. But it was not that particular piece of magic that weighed on her mind now.

Still reeling from the Lightwood brothers' revelation of their secret use of the _alliance_ rune for so many years, Cinder took a sip from the glass of water in front of her before calling on the final council representative.

"And what say the warlocks, Seraphine?"

Black-furred cat ears pricked up at her name, but she did not immediately respond, her gaze still locked on the floor where the brothers, her nephews now, she supposed, had stood together.

The nearly two dozen warlocks who had answered Alec's summons had passed a far more sombre evening than any of the other Downworlders the night before when one had made a very poignant observation. Their discussion had been the most muted, the least heated, and the quickest to reach an agreement.

"I wonder," she said slowly, the English lilt in her accent making her seem younger and more innocent than her 164 years would account for, the heat behind her cursed eyes notwithstanding. "I wonder if any of you, not just the Nephilim, but _any_ of you, have considered what the events on Wrangel Island mean for my kind."

The confused or curious looks she saw in the galleries confirmed her suspicions. They had all been so busy celebrating the end of the war, and rightfully so, or mourning their losses that they had not seen the simple truth of what she had done with her own hands. She had replayed the sequence of events over and over in her mind, and she knew in her heart that she would never have made a different decision, but she also needed to accept the full measure of responsibility for what she had done, and all the attendant consequences.

"The wards of our world are whole once more, healed and as strong as, or stronger than, they were the day the protection was first laid down by Heaven's hand. I am well aware that the team on Wrangel Island is still in the process of verifying this, but I know it in my bones. _My_ hands wove the power of that demonic ellipsis that night. I _felt_ everything that happened as I channelled that magic through my body for what seemed like an eternity. I _know_ they are closed. But if there are no more demons..." She choked on the words. "Then there are no more warlocks."

A tear welled up under the glamour that concealed her hellish irises from the assembly, the as-yet unknown price exacted for her involvement in what had happened on the island. "One way or another, there will be no more warlock children born in this world. We are immortal, yes, but rare indeed is the warlock who lives beyond a thousand years before succumbing to the fading of our kind. From this day forward, our species will now live on a countdown to extinction. When the last warlock dies, we will be no more. We have no Mortal Cup. We cannot bear children. We do not pass on our gifts through tainted bite."

Heads turned as neighbours whispered quietly. _No more warlocks._ The words held no joy, only incredulity and disbelief. As perhaps the least polarizing of the Downworlders, it seemed to stun the Nephilim to try to imagine a world without them.

"Our decision was made simple by this realization," Seraphine continued with only a slight tremor in her voice. "We have always been the custodians of arcane knowledge, the keepers of the Spiral Labyrinth. We will use what time we have left to work with the Nephilim, to set this world on the best possible path to ensure its success, and to pass on as much of our lore as we may. The Fey," she said with a nod toward the Seelie Queen, "are natural heirs to much of what we have learned, different though it may be from their earth magic. But we charge _all_ of the races with carrying our legacy forward, and we will do so by placing our trust in a unified order. For us, it is not just about writing a future, it is about writing an _end._ And we want it to be an end that we can be proud of."

Silence rocked the chamber.

And then the first of the quakes struck.

The Shadowhunters stuck standing at the back of the room felt their knees buckle, some going down while others threw their arms wide to catch their balance.

Walls groaned.

Floor boards vibrated.

Windows cracked and threatened to shatter.

Screams broke out through the assembly, arms lifting to ward off potential debris from the chandeliers and glass above. Aspen gasped and fell forward, hugging the support beam with her arms and legs to keep from being thrown off by the sudden lurching. She felt Hunter's long arms encircle both the beam and her waist, securing them both.

Seraphine lurched forward from where she had half-risen from her council seat. Heat began building behind her eyes and terror rocketed through her as she felt the familiar swell of power that stirred within her before one of her outbursts. _Magnus!_

She took one look at the packed crowd on the other side of the room and dashed in the other direction, deeper into the Gard toward the infirmary. The handful of vampires who had come had already vanished down into the labyrinthine tunnels under the fortress, unable to flee outside in the daylight. _Have to find Magnus!_

An ungodly wail seemed to come from deep underground, a haunting cry that sounded as if a living creature were savagely being torn asunder when the next quake rocked the earth. Hands clapped over ears, and a crush of bodies pushed toward the doors in a desperate escape from Gard. All four sets of the double doors slammed open and panicked feet thudded along the hardwood floor toward the front entry.

Deep cracks had appeared in the Gard steps leading down toward Angel Square where the ground had heaved violently. The grand bronze statue of Raziel that had stood tall for centuries in the centre of the Square lay toppled on its side, one of the Angel's wings having smashed the cobblestones on impact.

Warning sirens blared as the eternal glow of the demon towers transformed from opalescent white to the deep red and gold battle lights that signalled a threat to the Nephilim. All across the city, red spires pierced upward through the burned-out hulks of homes and businesses across the devastated city...

... all but one.

Jace, the first to get outside by racing down the side passageway used by Council members to bypass the main hall, gaped in horror at the darkened tower leaning dangerously toward the northern gate like a jouster's lance ready to be lowered into its cradle. Its glass-like face was bone-white and lifeless under the morning sun. "Raziel, _no..._ "

Not even when Valentine had used his son to take down the city's wards had the towers ever evinced any real sign of damage. They had gone dark, yes, but had remained standing tall, their _adamant_ walls impervious to harm. But the leaning tower looked... dead.

Isabelle skidded to a halt at the top of the stairs, heedless of anyone who might crash into her in their haste to get clear of the building. She took one look and then whipped her head back around to find her family, her eyes finding Jace before anyone else. "Are we under attack?"

"Under attack?" Clary shouted over the rush of the evacuation behind them, her small form buffeted sideways as more and more Shadowhunters and Downworlders poured out of the Gard behind her. "From _what_?" Fear coloured her voice as her worst memories of the Mortal War flooded back into her mind from where she had locked them away.

All eyes turned north toward the disabled tower and then travelled beyond the gate to what had once been lush countryside rising in gentle hills away from the city. Gasps of dismay fell from the lips of those in front or tall enough to have a view of what lay there now.

Hard-baked earth scoured clean of every bit of vegetation stretched away from the wall now, a swath of it blanketed in grey ash in a cone of destruction that lanced forward into the city. Large flakes swirled in on a dull breeze that blew down from the north with an unnatural chill, carrying with it the smell of death.

Rayce _shifted_ himself and his wife forward the short jump to a balcony up one floor and overlooking the square, protecting her from the jostling crowd spilling down the broken steps to fill the Square. Sera's heart fell through her stomach and into her boots. She knew that smell, knew the texture of the ash, knew what to look for.

Weeks of her prophetic nightmares were finally coming true.

She had seen the drained landscape before, and had been shown who was responsible for it. She could almost feel his icy hands on her body, and hear his deadly promise: _Don't worry, sweet Sera. When the time comes,_ I _will find_ you.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she pressed her right hand to her left forearm almost without thinking, a far-sight rune blooming to life against gold-kissed skin gone pale.

At the very far edge of the dead zone, a lone figure knelt in the ash, his arms buried in it past his wrists, his head thrown back in exultant ecstasy at the glorious feast of ley magic in the extensive network below Alicante. The strength of her rune magnified the blue-skinned face, brought the ancient bronze circlet across his sweat-soaked brow into focus, and sharpened the points of the canines in his beatific smile.

His head lowered as if he could feel her gaze, then his eyes snapped open and fixated on her across the impossible distance. The amber iris that had marked him as a member of the Wild Hunt had been completely devoured by the inky blackness that now filled his eyes, and his grin only widened further in challenge.

Sera gasped and cancelled the rune in an instant,squeezing her own eyes shut at what she saw reflected back in those dead black orbs.

Rayce cupped her face gently and tilted her face back toward his own so that she only saw him when she dared to look again. "Sera, what is it?"

Cold wind reeking of sulphur and brimstone blew through the wreckage of the city like the very breath of Lucifer himself, stirring up more ash and spreading the old smell of char once more. Goosebumps rippled down her bare arms in sharp contrast with the heat of husband's hands. She had already seen this. This was the beginning of the end.

She looked back at him sadly, bitterly regretting that she had been too much of a coward to continue searching the dream world for ways to win. Now there would be no second chances, no waking up to try again, no reset button. This was the final act.

She couldn't tell him that, couldn't find the words, so she shook her head slowly and closed her eyes once more.

"He's here. For us. For all of us."

 _** Author's note: Well, here we are. And I have good news and bad news for you._

 _As is the way, I'll give you the good news first: I will only have to disappoint you one last time as you wait for one last update. As I did with Exile, I will release all of the final chapters at once so that you may enjoy the epic conclusion to this novel (and the trilogy) without interruption._

 _The bad news: There will only be one more update! When next we meet, The Morgenstern Legacy trilogy will be complete. Now would be a great time to start re-reading and to drag your friends into my corner of the Shadow World!_

 _If anyone is still out there reading this, thank you. I know it's been frustrating with the insanely long pauses between chapter releases. That's on me, and as always, I will continue to promise to improve on my service times._

 _For those of you who have been here from the start, thank you for nearly two and a half years of patience. I've made it through two cancer diagnoses and two surgeries to deal with them, although the second one left me with chronic neck pain that really cramped my style (haha, pun intended). A third diagnosis of a new annoyance lurking in what remains of my thyroid following the aborted surgery in November 2016 presents me with new challenges to face in the coming months. When I started writing these novels, I was working part-time at a sleepy hospital, but around chapter 4 of Exile, I secured a full-time contract at bustling hospital that required a great deal more of my time and energy._

 _Many thanks to those of you who tentatively (or ALL CAPS LOCK) poke me about updates. It really does work, I swear. I'm Canadian, which means I'm inherently sorry for everything, and guilt is a great motivator._

 _I've made some huge personal changes since beginning Prince, transforming every aspect of my life along the way, but I remain dedicated to seeing this through to the end. And I've known that end for **two years** now. Oyyyyyy it kills me to keep it bottled up, but now, at long last, I get to pop the cork and take a long, hearty swig._

 _So cheers to you all, mates._

 _See you on the other side!_


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